


Under Surveillance

by nereidee (aurasama)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Burglar Thorin, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Modern Era, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3141356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurasama/pseuds/nereidee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo is quite comfortable in his new job as a night guard. It's just the break from constant sitting behind a desk the doctor suggested for his aching back, with minimum personal risks and large amounts of quiet time for drinking tea involved in a quiet office building. That is, until a daring burglar breaks into the Brothers Ri, Inc. headquarters and turns Bilbo's pleasant nightly routines entirely upside-down - repeatedly and permanently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tehri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/gifts).



The fifth of September was the first time Bilbo had regretted accepting his post as a night guard.

The job had been quite pleasant in itself so far. After spending highly unpleasant ten minutes in the nurse’s office sometime in March being lectured about back pains, too much sitting and the unhealthiness of desk jobs Bilbo had decided that sitting behind a desk shuffling papers was not him after all. He had not expected the pile of resumes and applications he’d sent to yield results very quickly, what with the economy in such a poor state and all those other depressing things he used to read about from the Financial Times every morning before delivering the paper to the important management people upstairs, but he had been contacted by a security company less than two weeks after applying for a vacancy they had.

He had rather liked the first impressions the company had left him with; a jolly fellow by the name of Balin Fundin had conducted several standard questions over the phone and invited him to an interview the next week. The interview itself had been slightly tense, as Bilbo had found himself interviewed by four people in total over the course of an hour and he’d been asked to give the administration his permission for a basic background check procedure required by the police, but by the end of the month he had happily emptied his office desk and walked out of the building, anticipating the training session starting next Monday.

His short training period finished and all permits in order, mister Fundin had told him there was an opening for a night guard in one of the more prestigious office buildings located right in the centre of the city. Excellent connections by both train and bus, he had told him, pleasant clientelé and minimal amount of sitting required. “Rather ideal for your preferences, if you are not opposed to working in the night shift,” mister Fundin had said with a wink and Bilbo had accepted in a heart beat. He had never been a morning person in the least, and he rather liked the possibility of getting to patrol on foot in an empty, quiet building without anyone bothering him about taking copies and writing unnecessary e-mails he had already taken care of hours ago. It would be just the thing the nurse had recommended for him – a job where he would be on his feet as much as possible and get some much needed exercise to ease his stiff back.

Having started during the summer season had been the most pleasant possible way to get a smooth landing into his new duties. The old night guard, who retired just after passing on his knowledge to Bilbo, had been pleased to get some company for his last nights at work and had filled him in on his day-to-day chores in the relaxed, sleepy atmosphere of an office in the middle of a holiday season. While the job required vigilance and attention to detail, it was not at all as complicated as Bilbo had feared in the beginning, and he felt very confident when the old guard shook his hand and bid him farewell late in July, leaving him to survive on his own.

On the 5th of September he had arrived with thirty minutes to spare for his shift. He had briefly greeted the yawning day shift worker at the reception before taking the lift to the third floor to change into his uniform and have a quick supper in the empty office kitchen. He had placed his snacks and drinks in the fridge as usual, glad for the late hour that ensured his food was safe from any thieving hands, and had trudged down the stairs to clock in for his shift and have a short chat with Bofur before the man would go home.

“Nothing special today,” Bofur told him, yawning once again. “Couple a meetings still ongoing, should be over within the hour and you can lock the doors as usual. Make sure they all of ‘em scram from meeting room 830, that lot has been staying overtime all week.”

Bilbo nodded, going over the visitor lists for the day’s meetings. He would spend the next hour behind the reception desk, checking out the last visitors as they left and laying out next day’s meeting plans for Bofur, before it was time to lock the front doors and do a quick check on the meeting rooms to make sure all electronics were switched off and all guests were out. And the restrooms, too, for good measure, Bilbo thought to himself, it was not once or twice that he had found the odd businessman still washing is hands in a restroom when the host of the meeting had already evaporated and doors had already been locked.

“See you in the morrow, Bilbo,” Bofur said, picking up his bag hidden under the desk. “If you start dozing off, the radio’s stashed in the same cabinet with the office supplies.”

“I hardly think listening to the radio is appropriate behaviour for security personnel,” Bilbo replied dryly. “If I can’t hear the alarms going off over the night radio’s _Best of Queen_ marathon when a burglar smashes a window somewhere, it’s not going to look good on the report.”

The other man snorted, shaking his head so vigorously that his ponytail flapped around. “Yeah, I knew you’d say that. Just make sure I don’t find you snoring on the desk next morning, or I’m force feeding you some tunes again one of these days!”

“Yes, yes, I’ll keep that in mind,” he answered, laughing. There had been an unforgettable occasion in which Bofur had set the reception cell phone to play extremely rude heavy metal at precisely two in the morning, and it had taken Bilbo a while to figure out how to undo the timer settings. The irritated note he’d left on the notebook for Bofur had only warranted him a winking smiley in return.

Bofur vanished, clocking out on the way to the lift, and Bilbo spent the next ten minutes mostly wishing the last employees good night and shuffling through the security cameras on the monitor. It was just a simple, large computer screen hidden from the eyes of visitors under the reception desk, the screen split into twelve small windows which each showed footage from different locations around the building. He flipped through each camera one by one, giving the footage a quick check and checking all monitor functions were working flawlessly, which they were – as least until he reached camera number nine, which was pointing straight towards the floor instead of the corridor it was supposed to be monitoring. Frowning, Bilbo adjusted it to the right direction again, only for it to slip back into its earlier position the moment his fingers lifted from the keys. He repeated the action again, then again and again, only to have the camera stubbornly return to its position each time.

The faint _cling_ of the lift made him look up and Bofur pranced back into the reception hall, uniform replaced by jeans and a hoodie, and a large beanie pulled well past his ears.

“There you are,” Bilbo said, relieved. “There is something wrong with one of the cameras. It’s not recording in the correct angle and doesn’t let me readjust the position.”

“Oh, that one,” Bofur said knowingly, coming to lean against the desk. He peered towards the monitor beneath with a slight frown on his face. “Good thing you mentioned that. I called the maintenance earlier today, said they’ll be coming over tomorrow morning to take a look at it. Couldn’t spare anyone today by the looks of it.”

“Well, I guess we didn’t make the top of their priority list there,” Bilbo said with a sigh, switching to camera ten and finding it in perfect working condition, much to his relief. “At least it’s not located near any of the exits. It’s practically impossible for anyone to stray all the way up there without showing on the footage from the other cameras first.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told the maintenance guy, too,” Bofur grunted. “Should have kept my mouth shut, they might’ve come faster. Just keep an eye on that camera manually every now and then, aye?”

“Will do. Now, get going already, you look like you're falling asleep on your feet.”

Bofur barked a laugh, slapping his shoulder with such impact that Bilbo’s knees buckled. “Alright, alright, I get the message. Look sharp, Bilbo!”

“Goodnight, Bofur,” Bilbo called after him, watching him exit the building while his ponytail waved gleefully with each step. He suspected the man’s hairdo defied the very existence of the dress code but it did not seem to faze anyone; on the contrary, the managing director, mister Ri, had stopped by a week ago on his way upstairs to ask what conditioner the man used, and in all fairness Bilbo’s own curls had swept past his ears months ago already so he hardly had any right to criticise anyone’s haircuts.

The minutes ticked by uneventfully. He spent the time cleaning up the desk and arranging office tools into orderly fashion instead of the haphazard (and altogether unprofessional) manner that Bofur seemed to prefer. The last of the visitors filed out of the building one after the other, some escorted by their hosts, some familiar enough with the building from previous experience to take their leave by themselves. Many stopped at the reception to exchange polite greetings with Bilbo as they checked out, some simply tossed their visitor’s badges on the desk without so much as ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’ to run off to catch a taxi. It was five to nine when the last visitors were finally out of the building and Bilbo waved off their host the financial manager, happily locking the front doors for the night. In an hour the alarms would automatically turn on and the lights would be dimmed in most floors but before that, he had plenty of time for a short tour to the meeting rooms and to grab a snack from the fridge on his way back down.

Two and half hours later Bilbo was through his third mug of tea, the radio now on the desk and blaring a Diana Ross ballad, though he had kept the volume considerably low to ease his guilty conscious. The soothing lull of quiet music did help him remain more alert, though he would not have admitted that to Bofur; the man had a knack for mistaking ‘soothing’ for ‘outrageously loud’ and Bilbo had no particular wish for any more musical surprises during the quiet hours of the night.

He set aside the book he’d been reading in the meantime, standing up and stretching his limbs until his spine emitted a satisfying crack. He gave the empty lobby a sweeping glance, the lights dimmed so that most of the light now came from the street lamps outside and the fluorescent lamps above the reception desk. It was all in all rather cosy in Bilbo’s opinion, taking brisk tours on foot around the building every few hours and returning to the desk for a spot of tea, home-made biscuits and a chapter or two more on the novel he was reading now. “Definitely worth the trouble of switching jobs,” he said out loud, slowly rubbing the bridge of his nose. He reached for his mug again and took a large gulp of warm Earl Grey just as he stole a half-hearted glance at the monitor, and nearly spat the tea right back out.

There had been movement on the screen. It had been brief, a small flicker at the best, but he was certain he had seen it, somewhere in the dimly lit corridors above. He pushed the mug away and rushed to the monitor, leaning over to watch the footage carefully. Cameras from one to five showed nothing out of the ordinary; the usual views of the glass front doors, first floor hallways, the staircase, second floor entrance and staff exits. Camera number six was situated on the third floor and covered the corridor leading to the kitchen and the fridge where Bilbo’s remaining snacks waited. Seven pointed towards the deserted entrance and key card reader at the fourth floor; eight was pointing towards the less used staff entrance leading to the parking lot and the cargo lift.

Nine was still stubbornly refusing to function properly but manually checking the corridor showed nothing special, but when Bilbo switched to ten he saw it again, a human-shaped shadow walking out of a lit meeting room on the fifth floor and pausing to turn off the lights and close the door after themselves as they entered the dark corridor. He squinted, almost certain that he had spotted something else and yes, there it was, the person appeared to be carrying something. _A coffee carafe_ , he understood, from one of the meeting rooms that had been in use very late in the evening.

He wondered whether one of the employees had sneaked back to work after hours like they sometimes did when a deadline was approaching; that would explain the lack of an alarm signal. He watched the figure come back to view once again, this time on camera number eleven, and much to his dismay it simply took seat in the lounge area where visitors sometimes waited and made no effort to approach the office cubicles beyond.

That has to be an intruder, Bilbo decided. Their behaviour was much too peculiar for an employee, and for that matter even if the person turned out to be an employee against all odds, they would still need to show some form of identification at this hour. Bilbo stared at the camera monitor, thinking hard. He could not fathom how an intruder could have entered the building without setting off the alarms. The only way to do that would have been to enter before the alarms turned on at 10 o’clock, but Bilbo had conducted a thorough search on the meeting rooms after the last remaining visitors and personnel had left at nine, and he was quite sure there had been no one on the fifth floor when he’d performed his check. He felt a cold chill down his spine. What if he’d been in the same building, on the same floor, with the intruder and not realised the potential danger he was in? That sobered him up, and he quickly felt for his belt to make sure the handcuffs were still fastened there. His position did not require the permission to carry any other tools, but having the handcuffs made him feel slightly safer nevertheless.

He gave one last check to the rest of the cameras, somewhat relieved to find the intruder still seated comfortably in the fifth floor lounge. Bilbo bit his lip, pondering how to go about this. He would have to confront the person and get them out, yes, that much was clear as daylight, but he had no way of knowing what the odds were for the intruder to come quietly.

He thought back on what the instructors had said about situations like this during initiation. “Know your environment,” the man in black training clothes had advised them while pacing in front of the class. “Know where the exits are located – always leave yourself a way out if the situation becomes too dangerous.”

Yes, that was it, Bilbo thought, brain working furiously, approach the person from the safest angle possible, keep close to an exit and… what had the next part been? He closed his eyes, brows furrowed into a tight line as he tried to remember. _Approach in triangle formation if you are on the field with your partner…_ Well, that was just ridiculously unhelpful in his situation. _Take out your baton, telescopic baton or pepper spray as discreetly as possible…_ But his post didn’t permit him to carry any of those on duty.

“Oh, this is bad, this is very, very bad,” he muttered to himself, but there was nothing to it. The person was still firmly seated on the fifth floor and Bilbo had to get them out one way or another; it was his job, after all, and he set off, squaring his shoulders as he went, and feeling none the braver for it.

The situation ruled out the use of lifts or the main staircase, that much even common sense could tell him, and he made for the less used staff entrance instead. It would be a lot of climbing to get to the fifth floor from that direction, but the inaccessibility of the tiny staircase without an authorized PIN code made it the safest option he had at the moment. If all else failed, he could at least barricade himself there and just call the police, he thought somberly. His legs were protesting the long climb and he drew a long, wheezy breath as he swiped his access badge over the card reader and entered the PIN code with shaking hands. Only the faintest click from the electronic lock told him he had been granted access, and he opened the door as quietly as possible before entering the fifth floor.

He stood at the very end of the dark corridor for a minute or two, letting his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. In retrospect, he should have brought a flashlight, but he had a nasty feeling it would have alerted the intruder - burglar, or whatever lay in wait in the lounge – of his presence much too early for his liking.

He skulked along the hallway, hardly daring to breathe though his forehead was damp with sweat and his heart still hammered erratically from the exertion of the climb. Bilbo peered carefully into each meeting room that he passed and found them all blissfully empty of unwanted night time visitors. Upon passing the small kitchen corner, however, he noted a dirty coffee cup and thermal carafe that had certainly not been on the table earlier.

“What on earth,” Bilbo whispered. If the intruder was indeed a burglar, they weren’t bothering to be very secretive about their presence.

The lounge lay now just around the corner and Bilbo felt his palms growing sweatier with each tentative step he took. The area beyond was better lit than the corridor and even that faint light stung his eyes as he stepped out of the comforting darkness to confront his burglar.

His first thought was one of instant relief to find the man in the same place he had been earlier. The bastard was sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, reading a newspaper as casually as if he belonged there, dressed in a suit so fine that he was more a gentleman thief than any common burglar. Bilbo cleared his throat, and the man looked up, seemingly not even mildly surprised by his sudden appearance.

“You. You right there,” Bilbo began and hated himself slightly for sounding so out of breath. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night? The office is closed, you know.”

The man considered him for a moment, his eyes serious under heavy eyebrows and Bilbo felt increasingly uncomfortable for his lack of reaction. The instructor’s voice went off in his head like a record player; _‘watch out for signs of aggression, such as clenching teeth, perspiring, shaking, clenching fists, staring…’_ And then the man chuckled and leaned back on his seat, his body language much too relaxed for someone caught trespassing.

Bilbo found it irritated him greatly.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” he said, his voice mellow and his small smile too easy for Bilbo’s liking. The guard found this a very odd thing to say, and it only confirmed his suspicion that the man was indeed a trespasser.

“I would like to see some form of identification, please and thank you!” he said with all the authority he could muster, holding out his hand expectantly. The man only seemed more amused by his pompous tone but folded away the newspaper in any case and reached for his pocket.

“Would a driver’s license do?” he asked politely, holding out the card for Bilbo. He nodded and took the card, examining it closely while trying to make sure he didn’t let the man out of his sight. He brows knit into a small frown at the name.

“Thorin Durin,” he read aloud. “You are not one of our employees.”

“No, I am not,” the man admitted, still completely at ease. He made no attempt to get up from the couch, and something in Bilbo’s head snapped.

“No indeed, I should say!” he said indignantly, all but thrusting the driver’s license back into the man’s hand. “With all due respect, sir, you have no permission to be here, and I must ask you to leave at once!”

“Leave, you say?” Thorin replied, managing to look politely bewildered. “You would simply eject me from the building without searching me? How do you know I haven’t stolen anything?”

“Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed. He had not thought about that, and to his horror felt his visage growing warm. “I… Yes, I was just about to come to that.”

“Were you?” said the trespasser, his voice almost dripping with humour.

“I was!” Bilbo said heatedly, and pointed a finger at him. “Right. You – you get up now, please, and turn around with your back to me. And put your hands behind your back, please, so that the backs of yours hands are pressed against one another. And please stay still.”

“As you wish,” Thorin replied politely, and did as he was told. Bilbo could not help noticing that he was tall, at least a head taller than Bilbo himself. This did nothing to make him feel better about the situation. His lack of resistance unnerved Bilbo even more, and with shaking hands he extracted the handcuffs from their holder, fidgeting with them nervously before inhaling sharply and stepping behind Thorin.

“Right, that’s good. Now, I’m going to handcuff you, so stand very still,” he instructed, and prayed to all that was good on God’s green earth that his voice came out sounding authoritative and impressive. “This is simply to ensure my safety – and yours, of course – while I conduct a security check on you.”

“Of course,” Thorin agreed nonchalantly. He stood remarkably still as Bilbo’s sweaty fingers curled around his forefingers, trying to keep a firm hold of him in case he started struggling, just as he’d practised before in a classroom situation. He racked his brain for whatever advice that he could still recall. _When using handcuffs linked by a chain, make sure the locks on both hands are facing the same way._ He pressed the cuff lightly against Thorin’s wrist, pushing the cold metal against his skin until the rotating arm shot around his wrist and clicked in place effortlessly. He switched hands and repeated the same procedure with the other wrist, tightening the cuffs carefully until he could just negotiate two fingers between Thorin’s skin and the metal. He pulled out the key from his belt, pushing the peg into the tiny holes that would double lock the cuffs securely before letting go of his now-prisoner’s hands.

“Are we comfortable enough?” Bilbo asked, trying to sound confident, as though he handcuffed people every night.

“As comfortable as can be,” Thorin replied coolly, and if he found the situation amusing, he kept his expression neutral enough for Bilbo’s liking.

“Excellent, excellent,” he said, nodding vigorously even though the other man could not see it. “Right. Erm. I’ll just pat you down very quickly, alright?” Thorin gave him a small glance over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows quizzically, and Bilbo realised just how wrong that had come out. “I mean, as in checking that you are not carrying anything you shouldn’t, if that’s alright with you.”

He was incredibly thankful that the man did not make any further comments but simply nodded and consented with a plain ’absolutely’, resuming his staring of the wall ahead as though this was a perfectly normal situation to be in.

Keeping one hand on the cuffs, Bilbo started carefully patting him down, feeling for any objects that might be hidden beneath his clothes. He carefully lifted the lapel of his coat and patted the breadth of his back, grasping his shoulder and slowly dragging his hand down the man’s arm towards his bound wrist. He peered into his pocket and found it empty but for a slim, black cell phone. _Well, I have nowhere to put that now and he can hardly use it as a weapon with his hands bound,_ Bilbo reasoned and placed the phone back into his pocket.

He felt the front of Thorin’s shirt as casually as he could, trying not to let his nervousness show when he felt the strong, athletic body underneath his palm nor the soft rising and falling of his remarkably flat stomach. It did nothing to ease his worries that the man apparently had precisely the sort of body built one would expect from a seasoned security guard whereas Bilbo, well, had not, his belt digging right into his soft belly and resulting in a little tell-tale roll above his waistband.

Patting down the small of his back yielded nothing out of the ordinary, and Bilbo’s hands moved to Thorin’s belt, tugging it lightly to slip his fingers underneath it. At this, the man glanced down at him, his expression rather blank. “Is that entirely necessary?” he asked, eyeing him curiously. Bilbo uttered a small, none too dignified sound before managing a flustered, “, it’s only a standard procedure, nothing more,” and he could have sworn the man’s lips twisted into a small smile before he looked away.

Abandoning the belt, he checked the pocket of his trousers, finding it quite empty. With a small, steadying breath that he very much hoped Thorin did not hear, he knelt to pat down his leg and found the length of it devoid of anything but more hard, unnervingly well-trained muscle. Bilbo swallowed, his mouth feeling strangely dry as he reached for the inseam of his trousers and made a long, quick sweep with the inner edge of his hand, trying to avoid going too close to his crotch and pulling his hand away as soon as possible. Perhaps the nervous tremor of his hands had showed, for Thorin’s voice was thick with amusement when he spoke again. “Are we alright down there, or is this a standard procedure as well?”

Bilbo gave him a sharp glare, the effect of which was considerably hindered by the blush that gave his cheeks the impression of round, red apples. “Oh, very funny,” he snapped, pretending not to notice the thrilled look the taller man gave him in return.

Grumbling, Bilbo got back to his feet and switched on the other side, searching him as quickly as he could and trying to still his shaking hands. Thorin made no further remarks, which the guard was very grateful for, and he found nothing suspicious on him beyond his keys, the driver’s license he’d presented earlier and a half-finished pack of mints.

“Find anything interesting?” Thorin asked him as Bilbo finished his search, glad to finally get his hands off him.

“Nothing that shouldn’t be there,” he replied. He placed his hands on his hips, eyeing Thorin questioningly. He had been expecting to find something, anything, that would explain his intrusion, but all he’d received had been a whole lot of personal embarrassment and a nasty feeling in his gut that the other man was pulling his leg. _Well, if it turns out he’s an industrial spy, this has all been worth the trouble,_ he told himself firmly, and indeed, the man fit the image of a spy better than that of a mere burglar or thief with his expensive suit and neatly cut hair. “I am still going to have to call the police, however, I hope you understand that.”

“Perfectly,” Thorin nodded.

“Well then,” Bilbo hesitated, considering their surroundings. He knew that they could be in for a long wait when there was nothing particularly urgent about the situation, and he’d rather not stand like a fool on the fifth floor, feeling awkward and avoiding Thorin’s eyes. “Let’s just go down to the kitchen. We might as well get comfortable while waiting for the police.”

* * *

“Hello, emergency centre? This Bilbo Baggins calling from the Brothers Ri, Inc. Headquarters on Ravenhill Street 52...”

Thorin was sitting in the small third floor kitchen, his hands bound awkwardly behind his back while he listened to Bilbo explain the situation over the phone. He kept casting suspicious glances Thorin's way every now and then, as though expecting him to be scheming an escape plan of some kind. He was definitely a funny one for a security guard, Thorin decided. His nervous, fidgety demeanour would have reminded him of a small rabbit had it not been for the dirty looks he kept giving Thorin, and the stubborn determination with which he'd handled the capture.

“... yes, I apprehended a trespasser from this building some ten minutes ago, I'm not sure how he entered the building without setting off the alarm but he doesn't have a permit to be here... No, I did not find any visible signs of breaking and entering yet, but I couldn't conduct a thorough search of the entire building before I went to him.... Yes, that's right. Yes. Yes, you can reach me from this same number if need be.”

The kitchen did not have much in it. A small fridge adorned with magnets and postcards from remote tourist locations, a sink and dishwasher, a kettle, a coffee machine, a small dingy microwave and cupboards full of mugs in different sizes and colours, most of them heavily coffee-stained. The high windows were facing the almost pitch dark parking area below, completely empty but for a couple of unused company cars.

“... yes, thank you very much. Thank you. Goodnight.”

Bilbo came and sat down on the other side of the table, pocketing his cell phone. “Well, we might be in for a bit of a wait, I'm afraid. They couldn't say how long it would be, but they estimated it would take at least an hour.” His nose twitched in displeasure; he didn’t look even remotely happy about the idea. He missed his book and his mug downstairs, but there was no way he would trust this man enough to leave him unguarded for even ten seconds.

“Nothing I wasn't prepared for,” Thorin shrugged, trying to find a more comfortable position.

“Still, it's not exactly how I would have preferred to spend this night,” Bilbo said with a sigh and got back up again. “Do you mind if I make some tea? I'd fancy something to drink if we have to wait here anyway.”

“Suit yourself. Wouldn't it have been more beneficial to wait for the police on the first floor, though?”

“Perhaps, but there is nowhere in particular to wait down there unless we want to sit behind the reception desk, and that's hardly very comfortable for what could be a long wait,” Bilbo answered, rummaging the cupboard for tea bags and sugar. He would have to borrow someone else's mug, but that would have to do when his own was downstairs.

“That's very considerate of you.”

He was rewarded with an impatient smack of lips behind him, and Thorin turned to meet Bilbo's glare. “Well, I am hardly going to treat you like a criminal suspect when the only wrongdoing I have so far been able to prove is somehow entering the building unauthorized!” he said indignantly. “I mean, that's still not allowed, but it still gives me no right to act like you had killed someone – which I hope you haven’t, of course.”

For some reason, that drew another small smile from the taller man, and Bilbo found he was actually rather handsome now that Bilbo could see him as something more than an immediate threat. Though like Bofur, he seemed to have no interested for following the dress code too closely, and his silver-streaked hair was longer than what he had seen on most businessmen so far.

“Perhaps you are right,” Thorin answered smoothly. “Though in all fairness I wouldn't be very likely to tell you even if I had, would I?”

His voice was so carefully neutral that Bilbo almost took him seriously – almost, if it had not been for the wrinkles around his eyes that betrayed the laughter he was holding back. “Oh, you are terrible,” the guard said, shaking his head, but he smiled all the same. “That was not at all funny, you know.”

“On the contrary, I think it was very funny,” Thorin replied and Bilbo snorted. He filled the kettle with water and turned it on, waiting as the water began boiling slowly.

“Have you been the night guard here for long?” Thorin asked.

“No, I only started properly in May, though I spent the first two months training under the old guard before he retired.”

“Are you always on the night shift, or do you do daytime shifts, too?”

Bilbo shrugged, leaning against the sink. “No, not really,” he said. “Unless there's a shortage of some kind. I was hired specifically for the night shift.”

“Does it not get tiring, staying up the nights all the time?”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, some of his suspicions flaring up anew. “Why do you ask?”

“Just making conversation,” Thorin said, shifting in his seat. “If we are to be here a while, I'd rather pass the time talking than sitting in silence.”

Fair point, Bilbo thought. The kettle gave its usual _click_ , water ready to be taken, and he poured a liberal amount into the largest mug he had been able to find. He saw from the corner of his eye Thorin looking for a position where he could lean back without his wrists bending at an awkward angle but without much success. Really, it was a bit of a shame that he had to be wearing them in the first place, it did not look very comfortable at all but security reasons were security reasons...

Security reasons.

Bilbo blinked, another bit from his training period coming back to him. He remembered very clearly how the instructor had demonstrated the proper way to handcuff someone both standing and lying down; he was quite sure he had done that precisely as he'd been taught if one did not count his nervous fumbling.

Legally, handcuffing someone counted as using force. That much he recalled with perfect clarity, and also the fact that any occasion where force had been used had to be jotted down on the report. But what were the grounds for using force in the first place, he thought, for certainly that had been covered in the training as well. In threatening situations, certainly, and as means of self-defense if necessary. He closed his eyes, trying to remember. Necessary... _Yes, that was it,_ he thought triumphantly. _Use of force should be considered only when absolutely necessary to carry out your duty, the instructor inside his head cited seriously. Force is not to be used in situations that do not warrant it and that can be resolved by using your most important tool: communication skills. Only resort to using force as your last chance._

That made him drop his teaspoon with such clatter that Thorin looked up, frowning.

“Oh, no,” Bilbo exclaimed. “Oh, no. No, this is bad, this is very bad indeed.”

Thorin stared at him, brows high on his forehead. “It's not the end of the world. You can always just wash it,” he started hesitantly, not entirely sure what had upset him.

“It's not the spoon,” Bilbo groaned, shoulders slumping. “I've made a stupid, stupid mistake!”

Thorin watched him bury his face between his hands, much too taken aback by this sudden (and rather alarming) reaction to say anything.

Bilbo’s voice came out muffled behind his hands when he spoke. “I am so, so sorry.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He let his arms drop, looking quite miserable. “I only just realised that I may have done a considerable mistake before. You know, in handcuffing you,” he added when Thorin only gave him a blank stare.

“I was under the impression that I gave you the permission to do so,” he said carefully, still not entirely sure if he was following the guard’s train of thought or not. “If it’s about consent—“

”It’s not only about consent,” Bilbo all but groaned, feeling all the worse for having to explain this to Thorin when the man was staring at him with confused, uncomprehending eyes. “Just… just turn around, please. I’ll release you.”

”You’re _not_ going to keep me cuffed until the police arrive?”

“I shouldn’t have handcuffed you in the first place,” Bilbo admitted with a sigh. “You were not resisting capture and you did not even so much as try to escape so really, I didn’t have any right to violate your privacy. I know it does not make up for it, but I’ll at least take off the handcuffs now, if you could just turn around for a while.”

If Thorin had any further questions he did not voice them and he turned his back to Bilbo obediently, holding out his bound hands for easier access.

As Bilbo busied himself on unlocking the cuffs, Thorin interrupted his churning thoughts. “You could always tell the police you acted in self-defense.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am much taller and very likely stronger than you. You could always claim that you felt threatened and feared you would not be able to restrain me in any other way should I resist aggressively.”

Bilbo stared at the back of his head, hardly believing his ears. “Are you suggesting that I should lie to the police?” he asked, sounding flabbergasted.

”I was merely saying that—“

“Because I most certainly will not!” he huffed. “I have made a mistake and I intend to take full responsibility for it, thank you very much!”

With a final click the handcuffs came off and Thorin massaged his wrists, turning to look at Bilbo. “I meant no offense.”

”And none taken,” he rushed to say. “And for that matter, there is no need for you to apologize.”

“There is no need for you to apologize, either,” Thorin said sternly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest. “Let’s just agree it never happened, and neither of us will make any mention of it to the police, shall we?”

”Are you sure?” Bilbo asked uncertainly.

”Completely sure.”

“Well,” Bilbo stammered, torn between relief and hesitation. “At least let me make it up to you somehow. Would you like a cup of tea while we’re waiting?”

“I would, thank you.”

Bilbo pulled another mug from the cupboard, dumping a teabag inside it. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Two cubes, but no milk.”

Bilbo busied himself on their tea, and for a while the clinking of a spoon was the only sound in the small kitchen. He placed Thorin’s mug in front of him and sat back down on the other side of the table, stirring his own drink for a bit until he was sure the sugar had melted.

“So, what’s your story?” Bilbo asked, blowing into his drink.

“Pardon?”

“How did you end up on the fifth floor after the lock down?”

“Long story,” Thorin said, shrugging. “Why do you ask?”

“Making conversation?” Bilbo suggested and the taller man snorted.

“Well, let’s just put it this way; I’ll tell the police the whole story when they arrive, and you don’t have to bother with it.”

“Oh, come off it,” he laughed and barely even wondered what had happened to his sense of propriety. “I’m sure it’s a thrilling tale.”

“You’d be disappointed to know just how far from extraordinary and exciting the truth is.”

“Don’t tell me it’s the dull and old-fashioned ‘at the wrong place at the wrong time’ excuse.”

Thorin smirked, taking a tentative sip of his steaming hot tea. “At the right place at the right time, as a matter of fact, but I’m afraid it’s precisely just as dull.”

Bilbo shot him a quizzical look and received nothing but amused silence in return, but he couldn’t be bothered to be offended. It was nothing particularly new, he knew, for suspects to refuse discussion point blank, and quite truthfully Thorin _was_ under no legal obligation to tell Bilbo anything, so he decided to let the interrogation drop altogether.

“The newspaper.”

“Sorry?”

“Could you pass me the newspaper?” Thorin gestured and Bilbo obliged with a quick nod, passing him the topmost one from the teetering pile of read newspapers and magazines stacked in one corner.

“Anything of interest there?”

“Greenwood, Inc. rose by 1.2% in the market today,” Thorin provided, though if his scowl was anything to go by, he wasn’t too enthusiastic about it.

“Jolly good,” Bilbo replied and he was genuinely gladdened, thinking about the small number of shares he’d invested in last year. It may not be worth all that much at the present, but he hoped it would result in a goodly amount of extra savings in the future.

Thorin only harrumphed in answer.

“You don’t seem too excited about it, though.”

“Their managing director is hardly what you would call an innovative leader,” he grunted. “He insists on defying change in all sectors yet his business shows no signs of declining. It reeks of dishonesty and scheming, if you ask me.”

“Well, isn't their slogan _'endurance through focus and tradition'_? Mister Greenleaf has always struck me as a man aiming to maintain a steady hold in business by focusing solely on developing their services.”

"Focusing indeed, and thus blatantly ignoring any grounds for profitable expansion. If they spread out into other fields of security, they could offer their customers something that would actually meet their needs."

"My, I take it someone disagrees with Greenwood's leadership policies," Bilbo said, grinning.

"I am merely offering my professional opinion, that's all."

"Since when are burglars interested in companies providing more comprehensive security solutions? Is it a matter of personal pride?”

“Precisely that, mister Baggins,” Thorin said, and his gaze was oddly warm when his eyes flicked quickly from Bilbo’s name tag and back to his face.

It was odd, Bilbo thought half an hour and his second mug of tea later, decidedly odd how freely the conversation flowed between them. Odd and all sorts of improper, he supposed, taken how awkward their little game of cat and mouse should have made the situation, though how inexpertly he’d handled the said game did not truly bear repeating. As nightly company went, Thorin was not of the unpleasant sort. Bilbo might have gone even as far as to suggest he enjoyed their easy banter. He had been very consciously aware of the uncomfortable silences that ought to have followed a trespassing that the other party gave no explanation whatsoever for, but as thirty minutes turned into an hour and an hour into two, Bilbo found the cramped little kitchen space much more comfortable in the present company than he had anticipated.

It was 3:25 in the morning when his phone finally rang, and they were almost through the box of biscuits that had somehow made its way on the table.

“Hello? Yes, this is Baggins. Ah, you’re coming now? Yes, we’ll come right downstairs.”

Thorin snatched the last biscuit, throwing the now empty box into the waste basket and placing their mugs in the sink while Bilbo was busy on the phone.

“They’re finally coming, thank goodness,” Bilbo huffed, pocketing his phone. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“I would appreciate it,” Thorin replied wryly. “I don’t think I can stomach any more tea tonight.”

* * *

“Thank you very much for your cooperation, sir, ma’am.”

“Oh, not at all,” the young officer said. “We’re sorry to have kept you waiting for so long.”

“It happens,” Bilbo replied, shaking hands briefly with his partner, a young woman with shoulder length red hair. “Busy night, I expect?”

“Afraid so,” she laughed, apparently completely unfazed by the lateness of the hour. “Been on the move ceaselessly for the past few hours, could definitely use a little break.”

“Perhaps you’ll get to enjoy a cup of tea after this. Well then, I expect you’ll be taking him?”

“We will. Good evening, sir, if you would please come with us,” she said politely, turning to look at Thorin. Behind her, her partner’s eyebrows rose the moment Thorin stepped into the light as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“That I shall,” Thorin answered, tilting his head in greeting. “I daresay I have been trespassing on good mister Baggins’ hospitality far too long for one night.”

“You don’t say,” Bilbo said with a theatrical sigh and the female officer laughed again.

“Come now, let’s get you in the car. Legolas, open the back doors.”

The male officer complied, shooting another puzzled look Thorin’s way as he climbed inside the car and called, “, goodnight, mister Baggins, and thank you for the tea”.

“Good… Goodnight, and you’re quite welcome?”

And that was all he managed before the female officer pulled out a clipboard, pen at the ready in her hand.

“Now, let’s get the report over and done with, shall we?”

* * *

The next morning Bilbo was sitting behind the reception desk, very nearly nodding off while waiting for Bofur’s arrival, an unusual arrangement, but mister Fundin had called him shortly after the police had departed and asked him to remain until Bofur showed up. He had no idea how he had managed to stay awake the extra hours that slowly dragged towards sunrise, and suddenly it was 7:30 in the morning and the first workers of the day were beginning to turn in. Bilbo stifled a large yawn, reaching for his mug once more. He prayed the maintenance guy would not turn up before Bofur’s shift began, for Bilbo was much too tired to even consider another trip upstairs.

He had tried to entertain himself with typing out a report of the night’s events, and the more he thought about the whole incident the less sense it made. There was absolutely nothing right with it; no visible signs of intrusion, nothing broken, nothing stolen, not even so much as a tea cup was missing, and the man – had his name been Thorin or something? – had behaved so peculiarly that Bilbo was starting to suspect he whether he had been under the influence of drugs.

The sharp staccato of approaching footfalls made him look up blearily from the computer monitor, and he saw mister Ri, the managing directer and the eldest of the three brothers owning the company, running down the stairs.

“Good morning, mister Baggins!” he called airily, badly out of breath. “Glad to see I’m not the only one here at this hour. Had to come in earlier today, there was a bit of mix up in the meeting yesterday and the access control manager from IT had to come let me in.”

Bilbo frowned. “A mix up? Of what kind?”

The manager laughed, shrugging lightly. “Oh, it was unbelievably stupid, it was. One of my visitors had a coat exactly like mine, and can you believe they accidentally got mixed up as we were all leaving? I was already home by the time I noticed my cell and my keys were not in my pocket! Thank heavens my brothers were home already, I would’ve had to sleep on the terrace otherwise!”

Bilbo stared at him, blinking very slowly. “You… you lost your keys?”

“I did indeed,” he admitted, smiling embarrassedly. Bilbo noticed that he had a bundle that looked very much like a piece of clothing under his arm. “Luckily, the said visitor phoned me home almost immediately when he noticed the mix up, he’s coming to return my coat soon… Ah, there he is! Good morning, mister Durin!”

Bilbo’s eyes flicked from the manager to the main entrance and locked at the man striding indoors with his hand extended, and Bilbo felt his jaw drop.

It was Thorin.

“Morning, sir!” he answered, grasping the manager’s hand and shaking it firmly. He looked rather windswept, Bilbo noticed, but nothing about his appearance suggested a sleepless night or any form of police involvement. “Good thing I had your home number saved just in case.”

The manager laughed, slapping his shoulder amicably. “That seems to have been a smart move, mister Durin, otherwise we would both have gone about with rather ill-fitting coats for a while. Yours is a bit too big for me, I’m afraid.”

“Unfortunately so,” Thorin said with a small, sombre smile that deepened the creases around his eyes, and Bilbo could hardly believe his daring. He extracted a coat identical to the manager’s from the plastic bag he was carrying and gave it to him. “Here you go, sir. I’m extremely sorry for the mix up. I should have checked the pockets more thoroughly upon leaving.”

“Nothing to worry about, haste makes fools of us all,” mister Ri said jovially, handing Thorin his coat in return. “The keys are in this pocket still, and… Ah, my phone – nine missed calls, and I’ve only been parted from it for less than twelve hours!” He shook his head, thrusting the cell phone into the pocket of his trousers. “And quite the eventful night it has been, too. Did you hear that mister Baggins here,” he gestured at Bilbo and Thorin nodded politely at him, “, apprehended a trespasser from this very building last night and single-handedly handed him over to the police? To think there has never been a single case of breaking and entering in the history of our company, and he was able to rise up to the challenge just like that!”

“Did he indeed?” Thorin replied, managing to look very genuinely surprised. His demeanor was much more subdued and serious in the morning, Bilbo noted, but he could only assume it was the face he usually wore judging by mister Ri’s lack of concern. The said man positively beamed at Bilbo, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

“He did, indeed! And let me just say, quite an impressive feat that was, too. No damage to property whatsoever, he kept our losses at the very minimum! We couldn’t be any happier with his work, I shall definitely give his superior a call soon to praise mister Baggins’ services and demand they let us keep him from now on, too. Wouldn’t do to lose such valuable staff during these troubling times.”

“Aye, clinging to what has been gained is more than advisable,” Thorin said solemnly. “And you are quite right; I’ve always believed that a job well done deserves proper credit.”

“I agree with you there,” mister Ri said happily, pulling on his own coat with apparent enjoyment. “Well then, I won’t be keeping you any longer, mister Durin. Thank you ever so much, and I will be hearing from you soon, I believe.”

“Definitely, sir,” Thorin replied. “My assistant will be giving you a call about next week’s meeting today or tomorrow.”

“Most excellent,” the director said, making for the lifts. “Oh, that reminds me, let me offer you my most heartfelt congratulations. I just saw the Financial Times this morning and I must say that is big news, very big news indeed.”

“Thank you very much. We had been preparing for the press conference for a good long time.”

“I do not doubt that. Good day to you, mister Durin.”

“Good day to you, mister Ri.”

As soon as the lift doors closed and they were alone again, Bilbo got up from his chair and leaned over the desk to address Thorin. “I cannot believe your daring,” he huffed indignantly. “What on earth are you playing at?”

Thorin took his time pulling on his own coat and extracting his phone from his bag before answering. “I came to return my glass slipper,” he finally said, giving the guard what was in Bilbo’s opinion an irritatingly smug grin and did not suit the respectable businessman act at all.

“Excuse me?”

“It had outlived its usefulness. The magic wears off at midnight, remember?” the man replied. Bilbo took a long, steadying breath and prayed for whatever gods that were listening to grant him as much patience as it took to not start yelling at the man in the front lobby. 

“You stole the good mister Ri’s keys and broke into the building before the lock down.” His voice shook with fury and to further his indignation, Thorin actually laughed.

“No, no, you have it all wrong, mister Baggins. Weren’t you listening just now? He took my coat, I took his. It was an honest mistake.”

“You lied to him between your teeth and right in front of me! What if he finds out it was you I removed from the building last night?”

“He won’t, unless either of us tells him,” Thorin reminded him, leaning against the desk and meeting Bilbo’s furious glare easily. “You know the identity of the trespasser won’t reach anyone’s ears beyond your superior and the police.”

“I would have told him immediately had I not been stunned into silence by your audacity!” Bilbo hissed.

Thorin lifted his eyebrows, looking increasingly amused by his towering temper. “We both know perfectly well you have no intention whatsoever to tell him about our little adventure, mister Baggins.”

Bilbo was suddenly painfully aware of just badly he had screwed up last night and could see in his mind’s eye the manager’s jovial smile evaporating upon hearing that his very favourite security guard was being charged with unnecessary use of force, and possibly false imprisonment if Thorin was influential enough to convince the police of that.

“Are you blackmailing me, sir?” he asked hoarsely, his anger withering away to make way for dread. Oh, he should have minded his tongue, he should have known that forgetting his good manners in front of someone of such high standing would lead to nothing but trouble!

“Blackmailing you?” Thorin ground out, his expression thunderous, and Bilbo was suddenly very aware of just how very tall and strongly built he was. “For God’s sake, no, absolutely not.” He looked positively repulsed by the idea.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I simply thought—“

“What I meant,” Thorin cut across him, “, was that if you would’ve had any inclination to reveal the trespasser’s identity to begin with, you would have done so already without hesitation when the opportunity presented itself. You are a decent person, mister Baggins, and decent people are easy to read.”

“Well, that is a bold declaration to make about someone you do not even know,” Bilbo said and his disbelief must have shown on his face for Thorin all but rolled his eyes.

“Mister Baggins, I had some three hours last night to get to know you, however superficially, and I have to say I have never met anyone who would straight out admit their mistakes – grave mistakes, even, for the consequences could have cost you your job, had I turned out to be the unreasonable kind of customer – and apologize for them, no less. That, my good man, is a telltale sign of an honest, decent person, and I mean that as a compliment.”

“I… Thank you?” Bilbo replied uncertainly. What on earth did this man want from him?

“No need to thank me,” Thorin said. “Just do me a favour.”

“Well, that depends entirely on what the said favour is.”

“You keep my secret and I keep yours.”

Bilbo stared at him. He didn’t know what to make of this man, didn’t know if there was some grand scheme driving his actions or whether he was just mad, but the serious look in his pale blue eyes looked much too earnest for the guy to be joking. Perhaps rich people were just peculiar.

“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

Thorin’s tone was oddly warm when he spoke. “I knew you would agree.”

“Still, that does not answer the biggest question,” Bilbo said, frowning. “What were you even doing here in the middle of the night?”

Instead of answering, however, Thorin simply drew a folded newspaper from his bag and tossed it on the desk. “Here. Be good to have something to read for your troubles.” And with that, he whipped around and left Bilbo shouting to his retreating back.

“Hey! You did not answer my question yet! Mister Durin, sir—“

“Bilbo, buddy, what are you still doing here at this hour?”

Bofur had just come down the stairs with a cup of coffee in one hand, already dressed in his uniform and sporting a very questioning look on his face indeed.

“Oh, I… Hello there, Bofur,“ Bilbo managed, picking up the newspaper. “I guess no one’s filled you in yet, there was some disruption last night, I—“

He stole a brief glance the newspaper, the newest Financial Times, he noted, and was just about to toss it in the bin when a large photograph on the front page caught his attention. He frowned, taking in the image of two tall figures, talking to one another by the looks of it, walking out of a pair of glass doors of what seemed to be an office building of some kind, surrounded by reporters. There would have been nothing particularly interesting about the article if one of the people in the picture had not just walked out in the middle of Bilbo’s sentence a few seconds ago. He remembered mister Ri’s congratulations and something about big news, and his eyes automatically flickered to the headline above. _‘Thorin Durin to succeed his father as the CEO of Erebor, Inc.,’_ it read, and something about the name clicked in place finally.

“The CEO of Erebor, Inc…” he read out loud, and Bofur snorted.

“Oh, yeah, that guy who just left? I saw ‘em interviewing him on TV this morning. Lucky bastard, after taking over as the company head he’s now listed among the fifty most wealthy people in the whole country, apparently. Some people have it made, man, no grunt jobs and low salaries to worry about for a single day of their lives.”

Bugger.

Bilbo looked up, and caught Thorin’s figure just outside of the building, about to step into a car. He gave a small wave upon noticing Bilbo’s stare, and the terrible sinking feeling of nerves settled right back at the bottom of Bilbo’s stomach as he gripped the newspaper.

Oh, _bugger_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m very, very excited to present this story to all of you after a long period of planning and brainstorming. I told myself this time last year, “no, Aura, under no circumstances are you to write a single multi-chapter fic ever again for that way lies madness” but well, here we are.
> 
> Bilbo’s guard job is based entirely on Finnish legislation, and the reasons for this were quite simple. First of all, I am Finnish and know the legislation and the practices of the security field in my own country the best, and trying to extensively study how these things are done in detail in any other country would have most likely just confused me in my own job (yours truly works as a security guard full-time, though not as a night guard like poor Bilbo here). Secondly, as I have not placed this AU in any particular country, I decided that using the legislation I am most familiar with would serve the purpose of the story just fine, and since credibility is important to me, I wanted the details about a security guard’s job to be as close to realistic as possible. And yes, handcuffing someone aka. using unnecessary force can be a serious mistake.
> 
> You might notice that Bilbo’s shift is a long one. He starts at 8pm and clocks out at 6am (if nothing happens that would require him to stay till the day worker comes there), making his shift ten hours long in total, yikes! This means he does not work five nights a week all the time. Bofur on the other hand switches between the morning and day shifts with another colleague. I just wanted to include this information here if you started counting Bilbo’s working hours and were horrified by his long nights! Yes, he works long shifts, but it’s compensated by longer weekends.
> 
> I’ll try to keep the updates to one a month to have a somewhat regular yet flexible calendar, so the next chapter will come out early in February. Cheers, and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get to enter Thorin's shoes for a bit this time. This chapter finally cemented my opinion about him being an idiot who should definitely not be allowed to run a business of any size independently, I mean look at his priorities and the things he gets tangled into!
> 
> PS. thanks for all the comments and feedback on the first chapter, they were a delight to read and put a glowing smile on my face for ages.

The one thing he had not planned ahead was his return home.

“Where the hell have you been? It’s almost six in the morning!”

Thorin took a deep breath before slowly turning around to meet the furious glare of his sister, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips and looking fully capable of murder.

“Good morning, Dís,” he answered, managing a weary smile that only seemed to further her indignation.

“Don’t you ‘good morning’ me, Thorin! You never came back to the office after the meeting or answered the phone when we tried to call you! Fíli and Kíli were waiting for you to join us for dinner for close to two hours before they finally resigned to eat without you, and Dwalin has been trying to reach you for hours! I thought he was going to have a stroke, and – _is that a bloody police car pulling up from our lane?_ ”

She had been trying to talk as quietly as possible to avoid waking the boys, but Thorin winced at the sudden shrillness of her voice when she stared after the retreating back lights of the car. He hung his coat on the coat rack, slipping past her into the living room.

“I’m sorry I made the boys wait, I’ll apologize to them over breakfast—“

“Apologize to me, you ungrateful piece of shit! Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Dís hissed, stepping in front of him and successfully preventing his further escape. “I was this close to calling the police! Dwalin was raving about assassination attempts and kidnapping and God knows what else, you’ll give him a heart attack one of these days with your idiotic tricks!”

“Assassination attempts?” Thorin snorted, giving her a disbelieving look. “He has been watching far too much TV.”

“Don’t try to blame this on him, brother dear,” she snapped, still thunderous. “And by the looks of it his fears weren’t entirely baseless, either. Would you perhaps care to explain to me why you were brought home at this hour in a police car, or do I have to beat the information out of you?”

“Got arrested,” Thorin said easily, pushing her aside as gently as possible and stepping into the kitchen. One quick look told him there was still coffee left in the coffee pot, a sure sign that Dís had been up all night waiting to skin him alive, and he poured himself a cup without paying too much attention to the shocked sputtering from his little sister.

“Arrested? What for?”

Thorin shrugged, sipping his lukewarm coffee. His nose wrinkled at the taste. “Trespassing. Just a minor misunderstanding, it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? You were supposed to be home eight hours ago, you complete arse, how the hell is that a minor misunderstanding to you?”

“The matter has been settled already, there’s no need for you to worry.” He downed the rest of his coffee, grimacing at the bitterness, and placed his empty cup to join the dirty dishes in the washing machine. “And you should pour that coffee in the sink, it’s so old it could probably kill a lesser man.”

“Don’t change the subject,” she grumbled, still eyeing him suspiciously. “Call Dwalin and let him know you’re not being held hostage somewhere, will you? I wouldn’t put it past him to strangle you personally if you keep him waiting any longer.”

He stretched slowly, groaning when his joints popped. “Could you do that in my stead? Tell him I’ll see him at the office at 8:30, I’ve lost my phone—“

“Lost your phone? Thorin, what the hell have you been up to last night?” Dís asked, sounding exasperated. “And where do you think you’re going?” For Thorin was already walking out of the kitchen, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. She followed suit only a couple of steps behind him and at the bathroom door he looked over his shoulder, meeting her appalled glare.

“Shower,” he said wearily, tossing his tie on the floor and discarding the shirt into the laundry basket. His ears were ringing unpleasantly, and he had a nasty feeling a headache was building up in thanks for his restless all-nighter. “I have a meeting at nine o’clock, better sharpen up a bit.”

“We are not done talking, Thorin!”

“Let’s talk over breakfast, alright?” And with that he unceremoniously closed and locked the door to her face, ignoring the fact that she punched the door as soon as it had been shut and demanded him to get back where she could throttle him. He undressed swiftly, letting the rest of his garments join the shirt in the basket. The furious pounding at the door intensified and he quickly stepped into the shower, hoping the sound of running water would drown out the noise.

“You get your arse back here or I’m poisoning your morning coffee!”

“Mama, why are you shouting?”

* * *

It had taken couple of phone calls, a borrowed car and getting yelled at by Dwalin to arrange the discreet meeting in the mangy little pub two nights later, but Thorin had eventually managed to squeeze enough free time into his schedule to slip away for one evening without a single assistant or reporter tailing him. In that sense, the timing for taking over the company had been rather unfortunate; he’d never attracted more media attention than he did now and the phones had practically been ringing nonstop since the press conference.

The pub was a cramped little thing at the corner of the street with old concert posters of local garage bands taped to the windows and walls, and judging by the acrid smell of tobacco hanging heavily over the pub the owner wasn’t too strict about making sure his customers respected the no smoking signs. The paint on the door was peeling off and the interior had seen better days, but Thorin wasn’t there to enjoy the décor.

And frankly, he quite preferred it over the stuffy business dinners he was forced to frequent these days.

“There you are, Thorin,” came a greeting and a cheeky wave from a poorly lit corner table, and Thorin sat down opposite a brown-haired man smirking at him.

“Fashionably late, as usual.”

Thorin smiled, crossing his arms on the table. “Giving Dwalin a slip is getting more challenging by the day, Nori. He’s still not convinced I don’t need a bodyguard to tail me around the clock.”

Nori snorted, downing the last drops from the pint in front of him. “I don’t doubt that. The guy’s been a busybody for as long as I can remember.”

“He is, but that’s also the reason why he is so good at what he does. Excuse me,” he said, waving a nearby waiter to their table. “I’ll have a Guinness and a Jäger bomb, thank you. Nori?”

“I’ll have a Guinness, too, and some peanuts wouldn't hurt, either,” he answered and the waiter nodded, collecting the empty pint and rushing off to another waving customer a couple of tables away. “Jägermeister in the middle of the week? Work stress getting to you or what?”

“I need an alibi, Nori. My sister is sharp-eyed enough already as it is, and if I don’t come back home appropriately intoxicated and foul-smelling she’s going to suspect me more than she already does.”

“I wouldn’t want to make enemies of that woman, she's as clever as they come. Now,” Nori said, lowering his voice and leaning over conspiratorially. “Let’s cut the niceties, shall we? Why did you want to meet me all the hell away in here instead of the office?”

There was a glimmer in his eye that Thorin had long since learnt to associate with losing considerable amounts of money in exchange of extremely questionable and morally problematic services, something that Dori had tried in vain to suppress in his brother since they had been in high school.

“I have a favour to ask, and I’d rather your brother not hear about it.”

The brown-haired man quirked an eyebrow, his face breaking into an all-too knowing grin. “Am I about to find out why you were caught trespassing in our office building in the dead of the night?”

Thorin’s answering chuckle was an amused one. “I take it you received the report from the security company?”

“Nah, but I called Balin first thing in the morning anyway. Must admit your name coming up in that conversation was something of a surprise, though. You’ll give the old boy a heart attack one of these days.” He fixed Thorin a sharp look. “Judging by the data log my brother, or rather, someone using his keycard, entered the building from the staff entrance, entered the fifth floor through the back door, and never checked out using the same keycard. So you somehow, for reasons best known to yourself, stole my dear brother’s keys, broke into the building and got your ass arrested. Spill the beans. What the hell was that all about?”

“You could say there was someone I wanted to meet, and it would have been impossible under normal conditions.”

“And who exactly might that be? There isn't a single member of the staff that you could not reach through my or Dori's connections.”

Thorin smiled, lifting his pint to his lips and draining a large mouthful before answering. “There is one your connections do not reach in quite the same way. One who is there only during the small hours of the night,” he said, wiping foam from his moustache, and Nori scoffed.

“You’re being awfully enigmatic today and let me just tell you that it doesn't impress me,” he said dryly, following Thorin’s example and reaching for his own drink. “What is this? Are you planning on expanding to the shady sort of business? Trying to forge mafia connections? If that’s where you want my help, well, I’m not gonna turn down the request before hearing your offer, but I’d think you’d want to protect your reputation more carefully in your current position. And mind you, you’ll have to take those negotiations elsewhere, I’m not having them in our premises.”

“Oh, no, not quite. This has nothing to do with business, to be honest,” Thorin answered lightly, shaking his head.

“A private matter? Don’t tell me you’ve got your eye on someone and tried to break into their cubicle to steal their diary or something.” Nori’s grin wavered and died at the look on the other man’s face. “You’re shitting me.”

“I assure you, I’m completely serious – apart from the diary part, that is.”

“There’s no one in that building during the night except the guard. Boggins, or whatever his name is.”

“Baggins,” Thorin corrected.

“Baggins, yeah, he’s our new regular—“

He stopped suddenly and watched with wide eyes as Thorin grabbed the shot glass and emptied it in one go, and if his face had turned a shade more pink, well, Nori could always pretend he had been too drunk to remember anything of the sort.

“Him?”

Thorin merely raised his eyebrows, fixing a challenging look at his friend as though daring him to laugh, and Nori decided to let it drop for now. And depending on the payment, he might even let it go completely and not make fun of Thorin the next time they got drunk together at a company party.

Well, not too much, anyway.

“I ain’t playing matchmaker for you, Thorin, that’s for sure.”

Thorin gave him a lopsided smile. “Don’t worry, I’d pay you to not get involved in that.”

“So what is it that you want, exactly?”

“I want a copy of your brother’s keycard.”

Nori stared at him for a short, stunned moment and broke down laughing, chortling so loudly that the barman frowned at him. “Of course you do. And you’ll be paying generously, I’m sure? An arrangement like this, well, hushing it up so nothing reaches the honest businessman's ears isn't cheap.”

“I wouldn't dream otherwise, friend. Trust me, you'll get a good reward for doing this little favour for me. On one condition, though.”

His now-partner-in-crime-and-fellow-conspirator grinned. “Name it.”

“You get paid, you don't ask questions afterwards.” 

“Deal.”

They shook hands briefly, sealing another satisfactory business deal, though Thorin rather suspected the monetary blow on his bank account would be more than enough to make him wince.

“Well then,” Nori said cheerfully, rubbing his palms together. “Buy me another beer and let’s get negotiating.”

* * *

A week after the 'incident' (as Bilbo liked to call it in his head to avoid pondering on that odd night any further) work had slipped back into its usual and altogether unremarkable routines. Bilbo did not mind this in the slightest; he was quite fond of routines, in fact, and though the instructors had warned him that being too accustomed to one's habits was dangerous in the way that it tended to make one lose their vigilance after a time, he still favoured the quiet, slow nights when nothing out of the ordinary happened. Of course, there had been the phone call the very next day from poor distressed mister Fundin, and while nothing unusual had been discussed and no one had said anything to Bilbo, he still suspected deep down whether that wretched mister Durin had gone and told the police about the handcuffing.

He did try to tell himself that he was being paranoid and that he would have been contacted about the said mishap already had that been the case, but the way mister Durin had continued to act suggested otherwise. Bilbo had seen him a grand total of three times afterwards, everytime leaving from a late night meeting with apparent haste. Well, haste that apparently lasted only until he reached the reception hall and laid his eyes on Bilbo, and Bilbo was starting to find it rather irritating. For all his reassurances that he had no intention of blackmailing him, he still made the point of lingering at the reception desk long enough for the other visitors to exit and leave him alone with Bilbo. Oh, he was perfectly polite, but the fact that he never had anything in particular to say beyond asking him how he was doing and wishing him a goodnight was becoming unnerving. He didn’t really need to resort to blackmail when his presence alone was intimidating enough, Bilbo thought gloomily.

That particular night had passed in cosy, uneventful silence, exactly the way he liked it. He’d busied himself on filing and organizing all the documents from the past month that Bofur had left lying around with a vague “I’ll get back to ‘em eventually”, and had been happy to notice two hours had flown by just like that. He’d even risked turning on the radio while he had been doing paperwork, which had made the prospect downright enjoyable and drove the latest awkward meeting with mister Durin several hours before effectively out of his mind.  
Checking the time, he decided it was time to take another slow walk around the building. He turned off the radio and the camera monitor, patting his pocket gently to make sure the keys were still safely there, and took his mug with him. It felt like it might be a good time to enjoy another cup of tea once he was done with the check-up, and he did have some excellent chamomile infusion waiting upstairs, a gift from his father to “soothe your nerves after that stressful incident you had, laddie”. His mother, on the other hand, had found the whole affair hilarious and insisted that such things only did him good and prevented him from becoming lazy.

Bilbo took the elevator right up to the topmost floor, slowly going over each floor room by room. He was in no particular hurry and thus he took his time walking around and stretching his limbs as he went, enjoying being on his feet after a couple hours’ idleness.

As he approached the kitchen in the third floor he concluded that he must have once again forgotten to turn off the lights during his last visit for the kitchen was brightly lit. As he stepped over the threshold, however, he found someone sitting there and Bilbo very nearly dropped his mug in fright.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

Thorin lifted his gaze from the newspaper on his lap, scowling. “What on earth kept you? I’ve been here for nearly two hours already.”

“Two hours? I… Why are you…? How did you – is that my sandwich, you arse?” Bilbo sputtered, gesturing wildly at what looked like the remains of the smoked salmon and mayonnaise he had lovingly prepared for himself.

Thorin shrugged, snatching another bite-sized piece from the saucer. “I was hungry.”

“You were hungry,” Bilbo repeated weakly. He very much wanted someone to pinch him awake and assure him he was still sleeping in his warm bed, but then again he didn’t want to know why his brain would have chosen to torment him with even more mister Durin than he already had to endure during his waking time.

“It took you a while to appear and I brought nothing to eat,” Thorin said in a tone that suggested this was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

“I don’t care why you ate my food. I want to know how you got here again!”

“Through the door,” he offered helpfully. Bilbo glared daggers at him but the man managed to look so totally unconcerned that remaining angry with him seemed a wasted effort.

Bilbo went straight for the kettle, deciding he should at least get the tea he’d been craving. “Actually, never mind. I just came to get myself a cup of tea and I am going to get it and enjoy it in peace before I throw you out.”

“The water’s still hot, I just boiled it,” Thorin answered, turning back to his reading.

“Oh, lucky me,” Bilbo said sarcastically, slapping the other man to the back of his head as though scolding a misbehaving child, and Thorin grunted in surprise. “Don’t you have a company to run, you scoundrel?”

“You’re starting to sound like my sister,” he said. “And just so you know, I don’t generally work in the middle of the night unlike certain others.”

“Don’t you dare criticise my job, food thief, you just ate my last sandwich.”

“I may not have been as well-prepared for the wait as I thought,” Thorin said with a shrug.

“And yet, mister Durin, you still apparently bothered to go home and get changed after the meeting,” Bilbo said dryly. The suit he’d donned earlier had been replaced by jeans and a navy blue pullover, and he looked rather more handsome this way than Bilbo was entirely willing to admit.

“Thorin, please.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just call me Thorin, please.”

Bilbo frowned. “Well, I think that’s hardly appropriate. You’re in charge of one of the most influential partnership companies that the Brothers Ri have and I’m just a simple security guard.”

“They are just jobs, mister Baggins. And for that matter, how exactly is yours less important than mine?”

“You’re the head of a multi-million security business, for goodness’ sake.”

“Exactly, and I’m tired of formalities,” Thorin said. “It gets exhausting after a time.”

“Well then… Thorin,” Bilbo said hesitantly, the idea of suddenly being on first name basis decidedly odd after months of ‘mister this’ and ‘mister that’, especially with someone of such high standing. Even if that someone had been caught trespassing again. “In that case call me Bilbo – though don’t start getting any ideas, I’m still throwing you out once I’ve had my tea.”

Thorin laughed, his face relaxing. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Bilbo,” he replied, offering the guard his hand, and after a short pause Bilbo took it, shaking it briefly. Thorin's grasp was firm and warm, just like he would have expected from someone who shook hands with important people all the time. For once the stern crease between his brows had vanished, and Bilbo was quite surprised to find he didn’t look half as intimidating now. To be completely honest, it made him look positively amicable, something Bilbo found alarming rather than reassuring.

“The pleasure is all mine, I suppose,” he sighed, very nearly rolling his eyes. “Do you want another cup of tea before I kick you on the street, or are you satisfied with just the spoils of your thievery?”

It turned out that Thorin did indeed, and fifteen minutes later he’d also cleared out more than half of the secret block of chocolate Bilbo had dug out from a cupboard, despite his valiant efforts to defend it.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said irritably, slapping Thorin’s hand away as he stole another piece of chocolate. “I’m not letting you take all my snacks, managing director or not!”

“Why are you so bothered by what I do for a living?” Thorin asked around a mouthful of chocolate. “I assure you, it’s not as impressive as anything they write in the papers makes it out to seem.”

“I’ve seen your name on the visitor list much too often to be completely casual about titles.”

“I would think that hardly matters when I’m here without permission in the first place. Doesn’t that automatically put you in a position of power above mine, regardless of who I am?”

Bilbo made an impatient sound, standing up abruptly. “Thanks for reminding me. We were in the middle something before.”

“Indeed?” Thorin said, sounding amused.

“Meaning you are leaving now or I’m calling the police again!” He gestured at the door expectantly. “Get up. I’m escorting you to the front door.”

“I am very touched that you’d see me off personally,” Thorin replied and got up, stepping aside easily and avoiding the elbow aimed at his ribs.

“You are not funny.”

“On the contrary, I am very funny,” he said. “And I’m quite surprised you didn’t call the police this time.”

“That would have been a waste of their time when I can just throw you out myself,” Bilbo grumbled as they descended down the stairs. “And I have no wish to wait another four hours for them to show up.”

“Oh, but I could turn out to be a terribly dangerous criminal.”

“My guess would have been a corporate spy, but the jury’s still out on that one.”

They clambered down to the first floor, Bilbo pushing the taller man ahead of him. Thorin’s eyes widened in surprise when he felt Bilbo’s hand at the small of his back and the other at his arm, steering him very firmly towards the door.

“You certainly seem adamant enough to get me out of here,” he said. He heard a small huff from behind him.

“I’m very keen on enjoying the rest of my shift in peace and quiet, thank you very much.”

“Could you at least call me a taxi?”

“What for?”

Thorin shrugged. “I didn’t bring a jacket.”

“You didn’t…? It’s already September, are you trying to get sick?” Bilbo said, but picked up the phone and called the taxi centre nevertheless.

It didn’t take more than five minutes for a car to arrive and Bilbo unlocked the front door hastily, ushering Thorin towards the street. “Alright, your ride is here. Off you go, and keep your hands off my snacks next time.”

Thorin offered him a small smile. “Next time? Was that an invitation?”

“I— No, that’s not what I meant—“

Thorin patted his cheek kindly, startling him into silence. “Goodnight, Bilbo.”

“G-goodnight,” he stammered in response, taken aback. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that the man wasn’t going to turn out to be a bloodthirsty nutcase, no matter what the papers said, but even Bilbo had to admit the gesture had been altogether too endearing to fit any part of that mental image.

“Why did you even come here?” he exclaimed desperately, just as Thorin was getting into the car.

”To see you, of course.”

“What?”

But Thorin closed the door without another word and the taxi backed away from the building, leaving Bilbo standing alone and flustered into the cold, dark night.

* * *

He hadn't expected to see the last of Thorin that night, not with the man dropping by for meetings several times a week, but he certainly had expected the man would have tired of whatever he was trying to accomplish by now.

Couple of days later, however, when Bilbo had thrown him out twice more, on the latest occasion finding him in the second floor bathrooms just a little after eleven in the evening, his exasperation was starting to make way for honest bewilderment. He still could not understand how Thorin could possibly be entering the building, and he had conducted a thorough search to all entryways for signs of breaking and entering, without any mention-worthy results. Unless the man was able to walk through solid doors or had somehow scaled the walls and entered through an open seventh floor window, he shouldn't, logically thinking, be able to enter without someone assisting him from inside the building.

“It's impossible to find out how he does that unless you somehow got your hands on the security tapes,” Bofur said sympathetically to him one evening. “Why don't you tell the cops about him and get it over and done with, anyway, if it bothers you so much?”

“I don't know myself,” Bilbo confessed with shrug. “I admit the whole thing with him is odd, but he doesn't really seem to have any malicious intent, no matter what it is that he wants, and no real harm has been done to property or office personnel, so technically I can't do much more than just remove him from the area. That, and...”

“And?”

Bilbo grimaced. “If I told the police I'd have to confess I've been just letting him go all those times.”

He had a nasty feeling that particular interrogation would have been highly unpleasant, and he felt no particular desire to experience it when Thorin's behaviour, while strange, wasn't exactly dangerous or harmful. If anything it only grated on Bilbo's nerves but in the light of nothing being reported missing or broken, being irritating truly wasn't a great enough offense to warrant an arrest.

Well, if one did not count his stolen sandwich.

* * *

On the evening of the twenty-second of September Bilbo arrived in the reception with a steaming cup of tea and found Bofur waving frantically at him.

“Hey, happy birthday, man!” he called over the counter, grinning from ear to ear.

“Why, thank you,” Bilbo said, sounding puzzled. “How did you find out today's my birthday, though? I can't really recall telling you when it was, to be completely honest.”

“Nah, but by the looks of it you had told someone.” And without further ado he ducked behind the desk, holding a small, colourful paper bag as he re-emerged.

“What is that?” Bilbo asked with a frown, setting down his cup.

Bofur's grin widened still. “I was told it's a birthday present and to give it to you when you showed up.”

“Told? By whom?”

Bofur snorted so loudly that a couple of workers on the other side of the reception hall turned to look. “Who else? Your stalker slash secret admirer, of course.”

“My what?”

“Mister Durin,” Bofur said with the air of explaining something self-explanatory to a four-year-old.

That gave Bilbo a pause. “What was that ‘secret admirer’ nonsense just now?”

“See for yourself if you don’t believe me, man.”

Bilbo took the paper bag from him, peering inside. The bag itself was hideous; decorated with diagonal stripes in ludicrously bright rainbow colours and glitter that scattered all over the desk and his clothes, it looked like something one might use for wrapping a kindergartener’s gift. He wondered if this was Thorin’s idea of a joke. Inside he found three huge blocks of chocolate, the exactly same kind that Thorin had destroyed during one of his nightly visits. A plain white business card had been tacked on the backside of one of the blocks and the contact information proved it was one of Thorin’s own. He had circled his mobile number with red magic marker and scrawled a short message in slightly disorderly handwriting on the other side.

‘Bilbo,’ it said. ‘It came to my attention that it’s your birthday on the 22nd. I hope this could be some compensation for eating your snacks the other night. Sorry I couldn’t deliver it in person. Signed, Thorin. PS. happy birthday.’

The postscript looked as though it had been added in a hurry and Bilbo couldn’t help chuckling, imagining the man’s prominent glower as he realized he’d forgotten to add the most important part of his greeting.

“Must be my lucky day,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “Look at all this free chocolate!”

Bofur continued eyeing him curiously, throwing questioning glances his way every now and then while gathering the last of his things. He felt eyes at the back of his head when he broke away pieces from the block of chocolate and stuffed them into his mouth, his happy chewing interrupted by the feeling of being closely watched. Bofur was not one to linger needlessly after work. On the contrary, he was usually all too glad to gallop out the door as soon and as quickly as possible and leave Bilbo to survive on his own. With a roll of his eyes Bilbo swallowed, turning around to face the other man.

"If you wanted some that bad, you only needed to ask," he said sweetly, summoning his most sincere smile as he offered the block to Bofur. The other smirked, his ponytail flapping from side to side as he shook his head.

"Nah, man, that ain't what I'm on about," he answered but helped himself to a piece of chocolate nevertheless. "All I wanna know is what your deal with mister Durin really is and what you planning to do about him."

Bilbo blinked, sucking on another piece. " I've no idea what you're talking about anymore."

"And I thought you were a smart one," Bofur said disbelievingly. "He's sweet on you, man, it's totally obvious!"

"That's ridiculous."

"Man, he only brought you frigging chocolate and gave you his number. The only thing that's missing is a bouquet of roses now."

"I'm telling you, Bofur, that makes no sense at all," Bilbo said. "I know he's pretty bloody weird but that's just way too far-fetched."

"Why?" he retorted. "You don't think he digs guys?"

"More like I'm still not entirely convinced he's not a spy nosing around. Not a very good one, mind you, but I can't rule it out, either."

"But you can rule out the possibility that he's into you? How do you know he's not into dudes? A guy like him is bound to be a bit private about stuff like that, being from a bigshot family an’ all, but you still can’t know unless you ask him."

Bofur's voice was just little too understanding and Bilbo found he wasn’t sure what to say. He was mortified to feel his visage growing warmer when the words really sank in and he stammered, ", I... well, no, I'm not saying that it's altogether impossible, but..."

"You don’t think he would fancy you, then?"

Bilbo swallowed, his mouth turned into sandpaper. He hadn't really given Thorin much thought in that sense, beyond recognising that he was definitely good-looking – at least when he abandoned the scowl that made him look like he had permanent tooth ache. The man was handsome enough on anybody's standards, yes, the touch of gray on his temples just accentuating his thick black hair, but he was still a customer, a visitor, and in Bilbo's position that would just make things awkward. It was ridiculous to even think too much of Bofur's suggestion, but turning the chocolate block around in his hands suddenly raised a hundred exciting what ifs at the back of his mind, most of which were immediately quelled when he considered what the chances of someone like Thorin fancying a person like him were. Less than a zero, he concluded gloomily. His voice was sceptical when he finally answered. "There is just no way, Bofur, I just can’t see it."

"Man, you need to find yourself a boyfriend and lighten up a bit," Bofur sighed, slapping his shoulder. "What say you we go drinking next weekend? I have a friend or two who swing that way, could ask them to come along."

"Thanks, Bofur, but that won’t be necessary. Getting a drink sounds like a good idea, though."

* * *

Whatever the reason for the chocolate was, Bilbo did not complain. He was quite content knowing he now had a stash to turn to whenever his sweet tooth had cravings, and he faced the Friday night alone at work quite cheerfully with a book in his hand and a piece of chocolate in the other. He had affixed the little business card to the door of his fridge along with other cards he’d gotten, most of which were from overenthusiastic relatives and much more ornamental in comparison. He admitted it looked a bit shabby next to its impressive companions but Bilbo did not mind. Whatever the thought behind it was, it still beat the large one from grandpa Gerontius that sported a very rude cartoon and declared “you’re getting in on the years, old sport!” in violently orange letters.

Upon completing his second round around the building Bilbo came back to the reception hall whistling a jolly tune, only for the melody to be interrupted by a sudden ‘hello’. Bilbo slipped on the stairs and tumbled down the last steps before he managed to grab a hold of the railing, tea mug slipping free from his grasp and shattering against the floor with an ear-splitting crash.

“Are you alright?” Thorin asked, getting to his feet.

“What are you doing here again?” Bilbo sputtered, his expression sour as he dusted himself. “And on my chair, no less!”

But Thorin had vacated his seat already, making towards him with his hands full of paper towels. “Sorry about that. Here, let me help.” He started collecting the remains of his late mug, carefully mopping up the mess and avoiding kneeling on any sharp pieces. “Could you bring the waste basket?”

Bilbo shook his head, more out of exasperation than disagreement, but did as he was asked. He watched Thorin kneeling on the floor, hovering between annoyed and baffled and finally deciding on embarrassed when the man bent further down, shirt riding high enough to expose his rear.

Bilbo took the waste basket back to its proper place once the last pieces had been successfully scooped up. “I seem to lose something everytime you show up,” he muttered.

Thorin shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking remarkably out of place as he hung his head and avoided looking at Bilbo like a schoolboy caught in wrong-doing. “I’m sorry I startled you,” he said, and he looked it, too. “If you want, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I grieve the tea more than the mug, to be honest.” It had been one of his favourite brews, apple and ginger, and the prospect of having to go back up to get a replacement quite saddened him. “What are you doing here, Thorin?” he asked for the umpteenth time, not really sure if he expected an answer anymore.

“You never called me.”

“Sorry?”

Thorin cast a furtive glance around the hall, trying to look anywhere but directly at Bilbo. It was impressive how he simultaneously managed to be so tall yet give the impression of shrinking right under the guard’s stare. “I left you my number but you never called me.”

Bilbo gaped at him. “You… you mean the card? The chocolate?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see what you… Oh. Oh!” He could suddenly see Bofur’s stupid grin with his mind’s eye. He slumped against the desk, legs turned into water all of a sudden. “Oh dear.”

“Yeah.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you’ve been coming here all the time at night, though.”

Thorin scratched his beard absently, avoiding eye contact to his best ability. “I wanted to see you. I thought that would be obvious.”

“But you see me every now and then when you’re leaving from your meetings, don’t you?”

The look he gave Bilbo was so earnest that he could have sworn the temperature in the room had just risen by twenty degrees. “That’s not enough. You’re always in the night shift. I didn’t know how else I was supposed to get to see you more often.”

“So you’ve been trespassing all this time just to see me?” Bilbo asked weakly, wishing very dearly his face would stop feeling so damn warm.

Thorin's composure seemed to crumble even further still. He met Bilbo's gaze briefly before clearing his throat and averting his eyes again, the little speech he had been practicing in his head all but gone. Where Bilbo felt himself growing significantly warmer, Thorin looked much paler than usual underneath his beard. To Bilbo, he quite looked like he was about to get sick.

"Thorin?"

* * *

Thorin had not meant to buy him a present.

He had also not meant to dump it on the amused-looking day time receptionist or ask him to deliver it for him. Just like he had not meant to forget to buy an actual birthday card or leave the meeting an hour too early because he was too nervous to face Bilbo. And he absolutely, definitely had not meant to break into Brothers Ri, Inc. the following day and embarrass himself when the other man clearly had not understood Thorin’s meaning.

In the light of all this, Thorin just had to marvel at the cruelty of whatever gods were watching over him for putting him in this situation and under the watchful eyes of Bilbo Baggins.

“Thorin? Is everything alright?”

Thorin swallowed, the sound of his own name being spoken making him feel as though he had a huge lump stuck in his throat. He forced himself to meet the other man's questioning look and, with straining effort, decided he had to finish what he’d started. You owe him an explanation for inconveniencing him on the job all the time, he reminded himself, the thought surfacing with a pang of guilt.

“I wanted to ask you out,” he croaked. Why on earth did his voice have to revert back to adolescence right now? “On a date. With me. As my date. Only if you wanted to, that is.”

It had seemed much easier after three beers and a Jägerbomb, he recalled. He’d had plenty of dates before, but perhaps it had been so long since he’d last dated anyone that he was out of practice? That had to be it, Thorin decided. He was also fairly certain what he planned to say had been something much smoother and mature than this pathetic grade school level speech he had just blurted out.

There would be no end to her teasing if Dís were to ever hear about this.

To Thorin’s discomfort Bilbo only stared at him blankly, mouth hanging slightly open, and Thorin was painfully aware of how dry his lips and his mouth were, wishing more than ever that he had done this in broad daylight after all. His jaw was clenched tight for the fear of conjuring something even more idiotic if he opened his mouth again. His stomach had clenched into a tight knot of nerves and had it not been for Bilbo’s wide eyes on him he might have just backed out and locked himself in the bathroom until dawn. Or perhaps called the police himself this time, just to spare the guard the bother of replying. It only now dawned on him that he hadn’t the faintest clue if Bilbo even liked men or if the very idea repulsed him.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Bilbo found his voice again, so lost in his own jumbled thoughts that he had barely paid any attention to the other man. To his great surprise, Bilbo’s face had become unmistakeably red, even the tips of his ears flushed bright beneath his curls.

The guard took a steadying breath. "Look. You've got to stop sneaking here in the dead of the night or you'll get us both in trouble, okay?” Bilbo said in pacifying tones, his voice even if a bit breathless, and Thorin cursed the unfairness of the universe as he felt his heart sinking. Of course the man would have said that, what else had he expected? He was on duty, for crying out loud, it was his job to be polite and friendly with visitors.

Thorin nodded, keeping his eyes firmly fixed to the floor. “I understand, mister Baggins, I—“

“You’ve just asked me out and now you’re trying to go back to formalities?” he chided, but his voice was light, the same carefree tone Thorin had heard him use with his ponytailed colleague. “Just Bilbo, please. And you might want to give me some time to answer before jumping into conclusions, stupid.”

“I…” Thorin trailed off, feeling as though he should have felt offended if he had not been quite so nervous.

“Were you really that certain I’d decline?” he asked, and to Thorin’s further bemusement he smiled even as he blushed again. It looked quite attractive on him, Thorin decided, his rosy, round cheeks just complementing the golden brown of his hair. “Because the answer is yes. Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you, as your date.”

“You… you would?”

The guard laughed, and Thorin knew relief must have shown on his face. “Yes, I would. I think I would like it very much.”

Bilbo vanished behind the counter, tearing out a page from a notebook and jotting down something. He held it out for Thorin, who stepped closer and took it without a word. "This is my number. It's hard for me to know when you'll be available, so could you give me a call instead? As long as it's before 8 p.m. on working days, you can reach me."

Thorin seemed momentarily at a loss for words, merely staring at the number, and Bilbo laid his hand on top of his, closing it around the piece of paper.

"Call me, alright?" he said firmly, his eyes locking with Thorin’s. “You owe me that much for the tea mug.”

Thorin nodded stiffly, afraid to say anything while his insides were doing the conga. He barely heard anything over the sudden racing of his heart, fast and unrelenting as though he’d ran a marathon, picking up the moment he felt the pressure of Bilbo’s hand over his.

“I promise I will,” he heard himself say.

Bilbo hummed his contentment, giving his hand a light squeeze. “You might also owe me a dinner. For destroying my snacks the other night, you know.”

Thorin could do nothing but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing has totally turned into a romantic comedy and there is nothing I can do about it now. Whoops! I enjoyed typing this chapter very, very much, and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it, too.
> 
> I'll try to get the third and final chapter out on time, which should be in early/mid-March, but if there are delays, I apologize for them in advance! The odds are that yours truly might be getting a job abroad and if that happens, you can probably imagine I'll be extremely busy for weeks and all my things will be firmly packed into cardboard boxes for quite some time. But we'll see how that turns out. Until next time, folks!
> 
> EDIT: I got the job, I'm moving to Sweden! Yaaaay! :D


	3. Chapter 3

The bus ride back home next morning passed in a blur. Bilbo dozed in his seat, blinking blearily in the hazy early morning light, yawning while wondering whether he’d have the energy to stay up long enough to have breakfast or if he’d just go straight into bed.

If there was something to be said about night shifts, it was that one avoided the nasty early wakings that everyone hated, though in Bilbo’s case he never managed to reach his bed before dawn anyway, so there wasn’t much of a difference there. He got off the bus on the street outside his apartment building, glared at the sign that declared the lift was out of order and slowly stumbled up the stairs, feeling the long night all the way in his bones. His doormat was curiously empty and Bilbo stared at the space that the morning paper usually occupied, trying to trip him up whenever he came home and usually succeeding. “Need to call the delivery company again,” he muttered drowsily, deciding to leave it until he had managed a good, long nap first.

“Good morning, world,” Bilbo bade to himself as he scrambled towards the kitchenette.

“Good morning,” said the couch right back at him, sounding just as tired as he felt.

He was already over the threshold when his sleep-clogged brain realised that his furniture had never contributed to conversation before and he spun around, taking in what appeared to be heap of wrinkled clothes and black hair on his couch.

“How the hell did you get in?” Bilbo exclaimed shrilly.

Thorin turned around slowly, his hair in terrible disarray that suggested he had been sleeping for quite a while already. “Do you usually talk to yourself?”

“Don’t change the subject! How did you get inside my apartment?”

Thorin yawned, settling back on the couch more comfortably. “Your front door has the weakest lock I’ve ever seen. I’d suggest getting a new one, unless you’re looking forward to burglars.”

“Did you pick my lock?”

“My company specialises in home security,” Thorin muttered, his eyes closed. “I know a thing or two about locks, and yours is past its expiration date by a century.”

“That’s for the housing company to worry about,” Bilbo pointed out irritably. He did not fancy discussing locks or home security this early in the morning, and even less before he’d had the chance to sample breakfast. “Where did you even get my address, for that matter?”

“Called the number service and asked which address your mobile number was registered to.”

Bilbo swore under his breath, retreating to the kitchenette and busying himself with the kettle. Thorin pushed himself into a sitting position, his jaw cracking alarmingly as he yawned. He could hear the bubbling of water and the faint clinking china, suggesting that cups and saucers were being laid out. A small cloud of steam rose from behind the doorway.

“You'll have a cup of tea now that you're all comfortable over there, won't you?” Bilbo's voice asked from the kitchenette.

“I'd love that,” Thorin said truthfully. His back felt unpleasantly stiff from sleeping on the couch, but he wasn't at all sure that Bilbo wouldn't have strangled him had he crashed on his bed instead.

It wasn't much later that Bilbo reappeared in the living room with a small tray in his hands. “You’d better get up if you want breakfast. You are not eating on my couch.” He laid the tray on a small round table beside the window, watching Thorin expectantly until he rose.

“You didn’t have to trouble yourself,” Thorin muttered even as his stomach let out an appreciative growl. His platter was heaped with fried eggs, bacon and sausages, a stack of perfectly toasted bread begging for the attentions of the butter and blackberry jam. He hadn’t realised just how hungry he was until now. Bilbo had been watching for his reaction closely, a smug smile upon his face.

“Says the man who looks ready to eat a horse. I know it’s not much, but help yourself,” he said, already slathering his own piece of toast liberally with jam.

“Not much?” Thorin asked, eyeing the teetering pile of toast next to his tea. “How much do you eat normally?”

“If _someone_ hadn’t decided to show up unannounced, I could have prepared something else than just simple stir fry and toast,” Bilbo said touch irritably.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Thorin said quietly, looking away from him.

“Why did you even come here? Don’t you have a place of your own?”

“My sister and her sons live with me. I did not want to risk waking the boys by going home in the middle of the night when they have to wake up so early to begin with.”

“How old are they, your nephews?” Bilbo asked, curious.

“Five and six,” Thorin said, his beard twitching as his mouth curled into a small smile. “Fíli has just started school and Kíli has been throwing tantrums every morning ever since. He says he wants to go to school with his brother.”

Bilbo laughed, only too easily imagining the very scene in his head. “Oh dear. I expect they are very close?”

“Very,” Thorin admitted. “Kíli follows his big brother everywhere, babbling nonstop. It’s nothing short of heart breaking to tell him he cannot go to school until next year when he’s bawling like a foghorn and clutching onto Fee’s legs.”

Bilbo shook his head, chortling. ‘Family man’ was not exactly on par with the image he had constructed of Thorin in his head and trying to imagine a pair of little ones calling him ‘uncle’ as he tied their shoe laces was decidedly odd. He had expected something more like a three-bedroom bachelor hideout in the heart of the city with wide screen televisions, black leather arm chairs, an army of lovers and probably rent twice the amount of Bilbo’s monthly salary.

Though, Bilbo thought as he considered the sleep crumpled state of Thorin’s once-neat suit, perhaps cute little nephews went with this new visual better than he had expected.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any sugar, would you?” Thorin asked, scanning the table for a sugar bowl.

“I already sweetened your tea if that’s what you’re after. Two cubes, no milk, right?” Bilbo answered matter-of-factly. Thorin blinked once, slowly, then lifted his cup and took a careful sip. He looked dumbstruck.

“Not even my sister remembers how I take my tea,” he mumbled, decidedly avoiding Bilbo’s eyes. Bilbo coughed loudly, heat rising to his face.

“Well,” he began, lost for words. “It’s hardly that strange. I mean, I don’t usually get visitors in the middle of the night, you’d think I’d remember something like that.”

“I suppose,” Thorin said.

“I mean, it’s a bit irregular, you have to admit—“

But Thorin wasn’t listening. His gaze was fixed over Bilbo’s shoulder and his cheeks had gained a slightly rosy colour.

“The card.”

“Pardon?”

“My card. It’s on your fridge door.” Thorin’s voice sounded oddly strained all of a sudden.

“Oh, that.” Bilbo cleared his throat before hastily sipping his tea again. “It, well, I thought it was amusing. I mean, you used your own business card—“

“I was going to buy a proper card,” Thorin said with a sigh, looking very much ready to punch himself. “But I found out about your birthday much too late and all I had available were my own business cards.”

“How did you even find out in the first place?”

“Nori’s a friend of mine and he decided to inform me about it,” Thorin said, getting started on the sausages.

“Nori?” Bilbo blinked. “Nori? Not our IT and Access Control manager, _that_ Nori?” Thorin nodded. Bilbo dropped his fork with a clatter, cooking oil staining the table cloth. “So _this_ is how you’ve been entering the building unauthorized all this time. Oh, I am going to kill him!”

“Well, _technically_ I have been entering fully authorized—“

“Going to murder him,” Bilbo muttered and shot offended glares at Thorin. His tea splashed over the rim of the cup as he stirred furiously. “Going to murder you both and dump your remains into several dumpsters.”

He looked so genuinely bothered that Thorin laughed, which earned him a kick to his shin.

“I cannot believe the two of you,” Bilbo huffed. “What the hell did he do, give you your own keys?”

“He made me a copy of his brother’s keycard.”

“For crying out loud…”

“I’ve known him and his brothers since high school,” Thorin said, shrugging. “He can be useful when he wants to – or at least if you have enough money to afford it.”

“I hope it cost you a fortune, you absolute git.”

Thorin only hummed contently as he turned his attention to the eggs and bacon. He chewed slowly, using a napkin between each mouthful, and Bilbo couldn’t help finding his appreciation for such a simple course just a little bit endearing.

They ate the rest of their breakfast in comfortable silence, utensils tinkling lightly. Sun was rolling higher and higher and Bilbo was getting steadily more and more sleepy, thinking longingly of his bed and the three consecutive days off work that awaited him. He rather looked forward to starting his first day of freedom with a good, long nap or two, only interrupted briefly for a spot of lunch and afternoon tea in-between. Finally, he stretched back on his chair, yawning his exhaustion.

“Perhaps you ought to get some rest,” Thorin pointed out, getting up slowly. “I’ve been keeping you up far too long already.”

Bilbo rubbed his eyes. “I daresay you have, indeed.”

“I’m sorry about crashing here without permission.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, yawning again. “It was nice to have company over breakfast for once, truth to be told. Only, don’t make this a habit, I’m not going to promise I won’t call the police next time.”

Thorin smiled, gathering their dirty dishes and carrying them to the kitchenette. “Shall I put these in the dishwasher?”

“Please,” Bilbo replied, and tried not to stare too long as Thorin crouched on his floor. He turned around hastily, mentally shaking himself. _Stay focused,_ he told himself firmly, _you haven’t even gone out with him yet._

It was a very nice backside, though, he had to admit that. Not that he’d looked that closely, of course. But based on quick observation…

“I’ll let you get some rest now,” Thorin said, closing the dishwasher.

“I’d appreciate that,” Bilbo replied, but the sarcasm couldn’t quite hide his grin. “So, when are you taking me out on that date you promised?”

Thorin very nearly stumbled on his way to the front door. “I…”

“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind already.”

Thorin cleared his throat, running a hand through his already messy mop of hair. “Well, when are you free?”

“I have tomorrow off. Are you available?”

“I’ll make it so that I am,” he replied. “Dinner at seven o’clock? I’ll come and pick you up.”

“Seven’s fine, but just tell me the address and I’ll be there.”

Thorin frowned. “Are you sure? I could pick you up just the same.”

“Absolutely sure,” Bilbo said, smirking. “Gracious as you are, we are not at the picking up stage just yet.”

“How prudent of you.”

“What can I say, I’m old-fashioned.”

“I’ll text you later once I’ve confirmed they have vacancy for tomorrow night, does that sound good to you?”

“Yes, that should be alright. Also…”

Bilbo held out his hand expectantly.

“I’ll be taking those keys, thank you very much.”

* * *

Nori’s desk was the very epitome of organisation skills, which was to say it was something only a well-trained eye could have seen. When one entered his office – which was located right next to the less used staff exit and a lift leading directly to the underground staff parking area in case of hasty and undetected departure – one would have been blown away by the disorderliness of the room. Stacks of paper and pieces of machinery filled all surfaces, seemingly haphazardly placed wherever it had happened to fit at the moment. All of this was planned; he knew exactly where everything was. The catch was, no one else ever did, and that alone made sure everything of value was well hidden.

His desk drawers were close to bursting with documents and CD-ROMs innocently titled with names like “Ori’s birthday 2005”, “College graduation party” and “Best of Suburban Techno 2010”, which contained cleverly encrypted copies of the company database that would have probably installed at least ten different viruses and melted the mother drive if opened on any other computer than Nori’s own. The disc disguised as an amateur porn collection was protected by five different bi-monthly changing passwords and contained the prime minister’s private home number, the coordinates to a remote cottage in Alaska and the number of Nori’s secondary bank account, which was on the Cayman Islands.

The actual porn was elsewhere. It probably looked like a Queen album.

Nori was firing away on his laptop; black, super slim and with undetectable browsing history. “No, Dori, that meeting you can handle all by yourself, I don’t care what you’ve told the press but I’m not coming,” he grunted to his cell phone, never ceasing in his typing. “I’ve told you, I’m not attending any meetings with this level of publicity, you know they film these things and last time getting my hands on the recordings took weeks! That’s a damn lot of my time and money wasted right there.”

Another phone on the desk rung, vibrating angrily.

“Hang on, I’ve got another call coming through.” He switched phones, putting his brother on hold midsentence. “Yeah? Yo, Dwalin! The hell did you get this number? Oh.” He frowned, rapping the desk with his fingers. “Don’t tell me honeyboy Thorin’s gone missing again. Nah, haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

A sharp knock made him look up from the computer screen. “Wait, someone’s at the door,” Nori said, reaching for the camera monitor on his desk and enlargening recording number four. He stared at the footage, well-trimmed eyebrows raised in surprise. “Huh. Sorry pal, looks like security wants to have a word with me.”

His fingers practically danced across the keyboard and he called, “come in!” as the computer locked itself.

The door opened and Bilbo stepped in, closing the door after himself. He wasn’t wearing his work uniform, and Nori thought he looked odd in his corduroy trousers and knitted sweater. “I am sorry to interrupt you,” he said with a smart little bow, stepping closer.

Nori willed himself to smile broadly, gesturing him to come closer. “Not at all, Baggins. How can I help you? I thought you weren’t working today.”

“I’m not here on work business,” Bilbo returned the smile, but there was definitely something rather stony about it. “I needed to discuss something with you.”

”What can I do for you, in that case?”

He smiled even wider still, dug something out of his pocket and dumped a set of keys on the cluttered desk. “Thorin Durin,” Bilbo said, and he didn’t look even the slightest bit amused anymore. “You probably think this was a really smart prank to play on me, don’t you? I’d love to have a little chat with your elder brother and let him know you’ve given illegal company keys to an outsider, helping him break into the premises multiple times.”

Nori stared up at him, thinking very fast. “Well, well. I guess the secret is out, then.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t find out?”

“To be honest, I didn’t think Thorin would have the guts to admit what he’s been doing,” he said, regaining his business-like tone. “He’s awful at things like these. I think his longest relationship lasted eight months, and even that was a bloody miracle with his social skills.”

“I admit his social skills need a bit of work, but he’s not entirely as bad as you think,” Bilbo said coldly, crossing his arms. “You’d better see to it that those keys get destroyed, or it’s your brother I’m consulting next. I don’t think he’d be too happy to hear about this little side business you’re running here, family or not.”

A moment of stunned silence passed between them, and Nori broke into raucous cackles. “Straight into business, eh? Thorin’s got himself a handful right there!” He pocketed the keys, still chuckling. “So tell me, how’s the romance? Please let me know it was worth my troubles or the flash bastard owes me another round.”

“He’s taking me out to dinner tomorrow, if you must know,” Bilbo replied, still glaring daggers at him.

“Indeed? Well, congratulations, in that case.”

“Are you congratulating me or just your own interference?”

Nori grinned. “A little bit of both, mate, if I’m being perfectly honest.”

Bilbo sighed, shaking his head as though to say he had expected nothing less. “To think you’d have the audacity to abuse your position like this…”

“It’s good fun.”

“You’d better go and find yourself another form of entertainment, in that case.”

Nori considered him for a while, spinning the keys in the air so much like a very loud yo-yo. He winked at the guard, features twisting into a lop-sided grin. “Duly noted, good sir. I’d hate to have the security tailing my every move.”

“I really don’t trust you,” Bilbo said wryly, hand already on the door knob.

The brown-haired man grinned wider. “Probably for the best.”

* * *

To: Bilbo  
Subject: Dinner

Reserved a table for 7.30 at the Grande Palazzo.  
On the eastern piazza facing Iron Hills Station.  
Italian okay with you?

Sent: 13:41

* * *

To: Thorin  
Subject: Re:Dinner

Italian sounds wonderful. Meet you around 7:20  
before the restaurant?

Sent: 13:47

* * *

To: Bilbo  
Subject: Re:Dinner

Sounds good. You know the place?

Sent: 13:48

* * *

To: Thorin  
Subject: Re:Dinner

Yeah, I’ve been in the area a couple times before. I’ll  
see you later.

Sent: 13:54

* * *

To: Bilbo  
Subject: Re:Dinner

You sure you don’t need a lift?

Sent: 13:56

* * *

To: Thorin  
Subject: Re:Dinner

Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Meet you there later.

Sent: 13:58

* * *

Thorin could hardly have chosen a fancier place, thought Bilbo standing outside Palazzo, eyes watering in the cold wind. Iron Hills was one of the wealthiest areas in town, with wide, picturesque alleys and spacious piazzas, all surrounded by old stone buildings whose walls were decorated with flowing art nouveau carvings. A large fountain of white stone stood outside the restaurant, the sounds of the bubbling water nearly drowning out the sounds of traffic.

Bilbo kept glancing at his watch every few minutes. He had come much too early, he knew it, but he’d woken up from his nap abruptly to stare at the ceiling until he couldn’t lie still without thinking about the dinner and what he was going to wear and whether he’d have to persuade Thorin into splitting the bill. He most likely would have to, he thought wryly. The man had an aura of completely unwarranted chivalry about him; paying for the dinner himself without even thinking about it sounded like a thing he would do.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. _‘One new message’_ flashed across the screen and Bilbo tapped it open, finding himself reading another message from Thorin. “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he read out loud, though no one could have heard him over the sound of running water. His fingers hovered over the keypad uncertainly, until he stowed the phone back into his pocket. He didn’t feel like telling Thorin he’d been there almost thirty minutes early and risk making an even bigger fool of himself. It was already bad enough that the other man kept sending him text messages that Bilbo didn’t know how to respond to without falling into small, crumbling pieces.

The day before, after their unscheduled breakfast date, Bilbo had woken up from his nap to find a message on his phone.

“I’m really sorry for the earlier. Thanks for the breakfast, it was wonderful. I hope you managed to get some rest. I’ll be in a meeting until 10pm, so I’m wishing you goodnight already.”

A part of Bilbo had wanted to text him back ‘goodnight’ and ‘don’t mention it’, a part which was lost under all the different possibilities that he couldn’t seem to control. He’d clutched the phone in his hand, staring at the keypad while he tried to figure out if a simple ‘see you tomorrow’ would be too blunt, too little, and if taking his reply a bit further would be crossing some invisible border that they hadn’t discussed yet. He’d typed and erased an answering message ten times, without managing to send a single one of them. Bilbo had wanted to ask if he’d ever told his sister he wouldn’t be coming home for the night and whether she had been angry with him, had wondered anxiously whether Thorin worked all the way until 10pm often and had nearly asked him if he himself had managed any manner of rest at all beyond sleeping briefly in Bilbo’s living room. He’d typed so much that his phone had converted the text into a multimedia message before Bilbo had changed his mind and erased the whole thing, deciding it was too much and too sudden, and he didn’t want to pry.

Deciding, however, was not quite enough to quell his curiousity, even if it stifled the flood of questions attempting to escape him. He hoped Thorin had managed to sneak away from his duties for long enough to steal a short nap; he had looked tired upon leaving Bilbo’s apartment. And unwilling thought he was to admit it, there was something thrilling about the idea of Thorin fast asleep on his couch, on his couch, of all places, and he’d managed to miss it in his sleepy state of mind. He wondered whether he would have found it as endearing if he’d found Thorin asleep in his bed instead. Bilbo pictured him sprawled across his bed cover, sleeping away his exhaustion, all limbs and mussed hair, as though someone had run their fingers repeatedly through it, and…

Bilbo swallowed, mentally shaking himself. _You are not going to bed him,_ he told himself sternly, _this is a simple dinner date and you are not inviting him to your bedroom afterwards._ He stole another glance at his watch, hoping Thorin would show up soon and save him from his churning thoughts.

* * *

Of course his car had to break down in the morning traffic, making him not only embarrassingly late for his own breakfast meeting, but also forced him to ask for a ride from Dwalin to make it to the date. Dwalin had been throwing him suspicious glares all week long – he rather suspected he’d been in touch with Nori – and it had almost taken a wrestle to make Dwalin drop him off two blocks away from the restaurant. As valuable as he was as best friend and colleague, Thorin did not much fancy introducing him to his date so early on, not when Dwalin’s idea of a proper wooing was the bloodiest action movie available accompanied by as much beer as you one could carry from the store.

He hurried along the street, hardly paying attention to the traffic as he stole a quick glance at his watch. It was only fifteen past but he had pictured himself arriving early, getting his hair in order and applying a bit of cologne before Bilbo arrived. When he arrived on the piazza he quickly spotted the guard standing by the fountain, watching the people exiting Palazzo. Thorin cursed inwardly. So much for fixing his appearance, then.

“Bilbo,” he called as he got closer, and the shorter man turned around. Thorin had never seen him out of his working uniform before, and he decided immediately that the guard’s attire did not flatter him; he was undeniably handsome in his deep brown jacket and burgundy waistcoat, both cut to be comfortable rather than tight. He looked utterly relaxed, the complete opposite of how Thorin was feeling.

“Good evening,” Bilbo said, an easy smile playing on his lips. “Did you walk here?”

“No, I just had something to take care of around here. You haven’t been waiting for long, have you?” he asked, frowning.

“I took an early train to make sure I’d get here on time, you can never know about the traffic,” Bilbo shrugged, hands in his pockets. “You’ve picked us a fancy place for tonight, it seems.”

Thorin smiled. “I’ve dined here a few times before, but I’d like to associate the place with something other than just business.”

“I bet. You sounded like you’ve been busy lately.”

“A little too busy, if you ask me,” Thorin sighed, running a hand through his already windswept hair. “Well, shall we go in?”

“Can I get a kiss first?” Bilbo’s voice was light, playful, and Thorin felt like air was slowly being squeezed out of his lungs. _You can get anything you want,_ he thought, hoping that he wouldn’t sound as breathless as he felt.

“Of course,” he managed, forcing himself to meet Bilbo’s eyes. The shorter man smiled, and instead of standing on tiptoe he grabbed Thorin’s collar with both hands and pulled him downwards for a loud, smacking kiss.

_I should have brushed my teeth,_ was the first, hazy thought that flashed through his dumbstruck mind, and he was just starting to marvel at the softness of Bilbo’s mouth when he drew back, grinning broadly.

“Well then, I think we’re all set now,” he said brightly, hooking his arm with Thorin’s as though accompanying him to a movie gala instead of dinner. “You lead the way, this is my first time here.”

“Right,” Thorin said, trying to regain the control of his legs, and they entered the reception.

Where the restaurant looked and sounded expensive on the outside, Bilbo soon found out that it had been decorated to a more traditional style indoors. A spacious dining hall with two dozen family size tables took up most of the space in the middle, but many more smaller, more intimate tables had been pushed to both sides. It was towards one of these that a waiter led them; a large window on their left revealed a view of the dusky city and a pillar to the right concealed their table just enough to grant them some privacy.

“I'll be back soon with your menus, gentlemen,” the waiter told them, bowing slightly as they sat down.

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, watching him scurry away from them. “You really have brought me to an expensive place, haven't you?”

Thorin shifted in his seat, adjusting his tie and hoping that he looked more collected and calm than felt. “Sorry,” he said. “Is it making you uncomfortable?”

“Oh no, that's not what I meant,” Bilbo grinned. He leaned back in his chair, apparently enjoying himself as he drank in the scene. “I've done my fair share of wining and dining before you came along, believe me, but this is the first time I've seen a waiter in an Italian restaurant bow at customers. In my experience, they tend to be more relaxed, family style dining places and not as formal as this.”

“That's probably because I'm here,” Thorin said. “We've had so many business dinners here that the staff knows me a little too well. I just picked this place because the food is good, and it's easier to get a table if you're a regular.”

“It probably doesn't hurt that they know who you are, either.”

“No, it probably doesn't. They've seen enough of me to know that I can pay the bill without being threatened into washing dishes.”

Bilbo laughed. “I'm pretty sure the dishwashing thing is just a myth.”

“If you're curious, we could bail out on the bill and test the theory.”

“I doubt that's necessary... Oh, excellent, I'm famished,” Bilbo trilled as the waiter returned with a carafe of water, drinking glasses and their menus. He picked up his copy eagerly, starting to leaf through the starters. “Oh, they have a nice selection of seafood antipasti here.”

Thorin took a sip of his water. He wasn't thirsty as much as he just wanted something to do with his hands. “Previous experience says that if you order the antipasti, you'll be full before you've touched your second course.”

“Perhaps,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “But eating well is the entire point if you're going out to dine in style! Let's see... Would it be possible to order one platter of each antipasto from the seafood selection to share between the two of us?” he asked the waiter, who was gazing at them expectantly.

“Certainly, sir.”

“We'll have those, then. And let's see, Tagliatelle ai funghi porcini sounds tempting for the first course, mushrooms are in the season right now.”

“Excellent choice, sir,” the waiter smiled. “The mushrooms have been especially fine this year. Anything for your second course?”

“I quite fancy something with meat tonight, so I'll go with Filetto alla griglia con pomodori gratinati. And perhaps pannacotta for dessert.”

Thorin stared at him.

“And what would you like, sir?” the waiter asked, turning towards him, pen at the ready.

“I'll just have my usual, thank you. And could you bring us a bottle of the house wine?”

The waiter bowed, leaving them alone once again.

“'The usual',” Bilbo grinned, sounding amused. “That was a very boring order just now.”

Thorin shrugged, emptying his glass. “I can't pronounce Italian to save my life, unlike someone else here. Where have you learned to speak it?”

“I took a few courses in university long ago,” he said. “And I wouldn't really say that I can speak it, beyond restaurant vocabulary, which is the sole reason why I took those lessons in the first place.”

“You're putting that knowledge to good use, certainly. How on earth are you planning to survive all that food?”

“It's not a proper Italian dinner without primos and secondos,” Bilbo replied cheerfully. “And if I can't move after finishing the dessert, you'll be a gentleman and order me a taxi, won't you?”

“If you eat yourself into oblivion, you should be prepared to face the consequences and walk yourself home,” Thorin said dryly. The smaller man laughed.

“You must eat out a lot if you already have your own 'usuals'.”

“It's either that or eat microwaveable meals.”

“You must be kidding me.”

“I'm hardly ever home early enough to actually cook something,” Thorin said nonchalantly and poured them both more water. “And according to my sister, it's for the best. I'm not a very good cook, if you want to know the truth.”

“You can't be that bad. I mean, as long as you have the basic survival skills to make something edible...”

“If by 'survival skills' you mean nearly burning down the kitchen when boiling eggs, I guess you're right.”

Bilbo choked on his water, looking nothing short of scandalised. “I am never leaving you in the kitchen alone after that piece of information.”

“That's probably wise.”

Their waiter was back with a basket of freshly baked bread and bread sticks, which he laid down on the table between them. Bilbo's hand immediately reached for the sticks and gathered a handful of them. “I love these things,” he said with a wistful sigh. “I could eat them by the box.”

“You can have them,” Thorin chuckled. “I'm not all that fond of them, personally.”

Bilbo did not need to be told twice, and soon he had stolen the entire bread basket onto his side of the table. “I'm guessing your job keeps you quite busy if you're never home for a proper dinner? I've seen you leave from your meetings at ungodly hours more often than not.”

“Management level positions are not as glamourous as they seem,” Thorin said. “I never wanted to inherit the company in the first place, but it's family business and my siblings bailed out on the duty, so there was no one else left to do the job.”

“My condolescences,” Bilbo said with a small grimace. “My father runs a small bakery back in the Shire but he never insisted I continue in his footsteps.”

“You're from the Shire?” Thorin asked, surprised. “That's quite a long way off.”

“I came here to study and ended up staying,” he shrugged. “My parents complain that I'm living much too far away now for their tastes but I do try to visit them as often as possible. My family's pretty tight knit, see, they're not used to people moving any further away than the next street.”

“It must have come as quite a shock to them when you moved out for studies.”

“Oh, my mother thought it would do good for me, but my father was a different story entirely...” They were interrupted by the arrival of their starters – seven platters in total, all of them crammed with different sea creatures, swimming in delicious sauces or fried in oil for a perfectly crispy texture. Thorin eyed the sheer amount of food in disbelief. He was perfectly certain they'd both be more than full after finishing the antipasti and the bread, and secretly wondered if Bilbo seriously believed he could stuff two entire courses and a dessert into his belly after all this food. The guard was so small. Perhaps he should consider calling a doctor in advance.

Oblivious to his concerns, Bilbo was already scooping up some red, buttery sauce with a piece of bread. He ate it with apparent relish, closing his eyes and smacking his lips appreciately afterwards. In any other company, Thorin might have found it comical; instead, he felt rather warm in the face and tried to remember how to breathe.

_I am in so much trouble,_ he thought with no little amount of desperation.

“You should really try this,” Bilbo said, pushing the platter closer to him. Thorin swallowed, his throat feeling uncomfortably tight when the smaller man brought his thumb to his mouth and licked the butter and sauce off, looking entirely unabashed. Thorin opened his mouth to speak but the only sound he managed was a strangled grunt.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Bilbo said, hastily grabbing a napkin. “Excuse my table manners, I didn't consider where we were.”

“That's....” Thorin began hoarsely. He coughed, taking another sip of water to settle his dry throat. “That's fine. Most of the starters are finger food, after all.”

“Oh, they are,” he agreed. “But my old da would have given my ear a twist if he'd seen that.”

“So is this why you're such a good cook? Learned from your father?”

“Partially that, partially just that I like food. If you can cook well, you can eat anything you want whenever you want, and I happen to appreciate that.”

“I can imagine that,” Thorin replied, forcing himself to smile. _Don't make this weird,_ he told himself. _Act natural._

Bilbo caught his eye and smirked. His smile was a little too knowing for Thorin's liking, and he tried very hard not to squirm in his seat. “Perhaps I should invite you over for dinner next time around, if homecooking is something you get to sample so rarely.”

_God, I'd love that,_ he thought, and tried not to let his mind wander any further from a simple dinner and perhaps watching a movie. Perhaps sitting on the couch together, their knees might accidentally brush against one another... He might have his arm around Bilbo's shoulder, pulling him closer for a simple, innocent kiss... He coughed again, willing himself back on earth. “I wouldn't say no to that,” he managed finally.

Bilbo positively beamed. “Oh, do come over, won't you? I'll make some apple pie for dessert, it's my specialty.”

_How on earth do you make even that sound so suggestive?_ Thorin wondered weakly, exceptionally thankful to see their first courses arriving. It might be a good idea to pop that bottle of wine soon or he would really make a fool of himself.

* * *

“I'm paying.”

“No, we're splitting. I'm not going to let you pay for my food, I ate twice as much as you.” Bilbo grabbed his wrist when he tried to offer his credit card to the waiter.

Thorin sighed, only barely managing not to roll his eyes. “I invited you out, remember? My treat.”

“Absolutely not, mister,” Bilbo said, thrusting his own card into the waiter's hand. “Here. Take the entire sum off my account before this idiot here interferes any further.”

The waiter shifted his weight from one foot to another awkwardly, giving a small bow and taking Bilbo's card with him. Thorin could only watch their bills disappear behind the counter. The wine had definitely softened his brain. He was about to protest further when Bilbo's hands closed on his collar again and he found his breath taken away by a kiss. He could have sworn his head was spinning when they broke apart, and he was certain it was not just the wine at work there.

“I thought you wanted to split the bill,” he said weakly, the other man's taste still in his mouth.

“I changed my mind,” Bilbo said warmly. “As thanks for the wonderful evening.”

“At least let me treat you next time, then.”

The smaller man smiled, his entire face lighting up. “Does this mean there will be a next time?”

“If you want to, absolutely,” Thorin said, leaning down to steal a kiss of his own. The liquid courage had not been a bad idea entirely, he had to admit that much. He felt his insides clench into a tight knot when Bilbo returned the kiss with eagerness.

“In that case you can buy the ingredients next time and I'll cook,” Bilbo replied, grinning from ear to ear. His eagerness made Thorin feel extremely thankful that he was taking a taxi home, for his legs seemed to have been turned into marshmallows and he didn't trust them to carry him all the way. “Homecooking next, alright?”

“Alright,” he said. His mouth felt like sandpaper again.

The waiter came back with a card reader, and the guard turned around to type in his code. Thorin vaguely wondered how he was supposed to survive an entire evening with Bilbo, alone in his apartment, without completely losing his head, but he'd had just enough alcohol to push the worry off his mind for now. Perhaps he should talk to Dís and try to persuade her into helping him. She could be very helpful when she wanted to, granted she'd stop laughing for long enough to actually come up with any ideas.

Bilbo slipped the receipt into his wallet and bade the waiter goodnight. “All done. Shall we get going?”

Thorin nodded and the smaller man hooked their arms together once more.

“Will you be commuting home?” he asked when they stepped outside. The wind hadn't died down one bit and Thorin felt himself shivering in his suit.

“Yes, I rather fancy walking home from the station. Clear my head a bit before bedtime, you know,” Bilbo answered, giving his arm a squeeze. “How about you? Have your own driver waiting for you in here somewhere?”

“I told him to go home. Wouldn't be fair to make him waste his entire evening waiting for me.”

“Need me to call you a taxi? I see you're still not dressed up properly for the season.”

Thorin smiled. “I think I can manage it myself this time, thank you very much. There's a taxi queue right on the other side of the piazza.”

They had reached the fountain. There were much more people outside now and the streetlights had been lit up. Neon signs were flashing on the streets lining the square. Thorin found Bilbo looking up at him, still firmly grasping his arm.

“Do you have any meetings coming up at Brothers Ri?”

“Not in the next week or two, at least. We're discussing a fusion with Ironfoot, Ltd. – my cousin's company – and the meetings will probably take all my attention for a while.”

“I see,” Bilbo said, squeezing his arm tighter. “You don't mind if I text you every now and then, at least?”

“I won't mind,” Thorin replied quietly. “I know I'm difficult to reach sometimes, but I'll let you know immediately when I'm available for that dinner.”

“You better.”

“I promise I will.”

* * *

It had taken every ounce of Thorin's patience and several direct threats from Dwalin not to cancel all of his meetings with Dain. Had anyone asked him – and remarkably often no one did despite his being the top of the corporate ladder – he would have told everyone to pack their things and go home at four, but his cousin was a business enthusiast if he had ever seen one. Quite apart from spending all his evenings simply shuffling papers and in meetings with serious men in suits, his calendar had been crammed full with business dinners, family meetings and, on one occasion, a private golf session with the management of both Erebor, Inc. and Ironfoot, Ltd.

It had been very well received by everyone involved, except for Thorin himself.

In Thorin's opinion, there was only one true entrepreneur in this family, and that was Dain. He had all those qualities that were universally accepted as marking real business spirit; idealism, enthusiasm, leadership skills and no small amount of insanity. Dwalin agreed that all Thorin possessed of those qualities was the latter and privately, he almost agreed. He wished dearly the rest of the company would one day see this, too, and just let him clock out early for once in his life.

* * *

To: Bilbo  
Subject: Send help

This meeting is taking forever. Am dying  
of boredom.

Sent: 18:53

* * *

To: Thorin  
Subject: Re:Send help

I forbid you from dying before you've  
tried my apple pie. Had anything to eat  
today?

Sent: 19:10

* * *

To: Bilbo  
Subject: Re:Send help

Had a dinner break an hour ago. You  
at work yet?

Sent: 19:25

* * *

To: Thorin  
Subject: Re:Send help

On the train right now. Starting at 8pm.  
So, how about that apple pie?

Sent: 19:31

* * *

Thorin smiled when his phone buzzed again. He tried to type his reply as discreetly as possible, pretending to be watching the slideshow. Had he tried to tell Dain he just wanted to skive off the meetings for a date, his cousin would probably have lent him his own car, but he had a hunch Dwalin would have just carried him back and tied him to his chair to prevent him from escaping again.

To: Bilbo  
Subject: Re:Send help

I'd love that. Do you have anything on  
Thursday? This torment's finally ending  
tomorrow.

Sent: 19:35

* * *

To: Thorin  
Subject: Re:Send help

Thursday's fine. Meet you by the grocery store  
near my place at 5pm? We need to do some  
shopping.

Sent: 19:45

* * *

Early on Thursday morning, Bilbo got off the bus with a half-formed shopping list in his mind. Milk. Flour. Eggs. They'd need meat and cooking cream, certainly. He had spend a greater part of his night shift crossing out possible courses from the very long list he had assembled earlier, and he had come to one conclusion: he had no idea what Thorin liked, apart from the chocolate and sandwiches he'd destroyed earlier. He had never asked if he had a favourite food. He made a mental note to ask that at the first given opportunity.

He had just taken off his coat and wondered if he should make breakfast or just crawl to bed immediately when he noticed there was quite a lot more to his couch than usual. A large figure was sleeping there, curled in fetal position. Bilbo paused on the threshold, simply staring at him for a while. _The git hasn't even bothered to drape the fleece quilt over himself,_ he thought. The thought was oddly endearing.

He approached the sleeping figure slowly, watching him quietly before grasping his shoulder and carefully shaking him. “Good morning, Thorin. How long have you been sleeping there?”

Thorin opened his eyes slowly, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness that had not been there when he’d dozed off. Bilbo was bending over him, his smile more amused than exasperated, and Thorin tried to focus his gaze on him. Bilbo’s eyes bore that glazed early morning look that told Thorin he had just come from work, and sure enough, he was still wearing his dress shirt, though with a lot more buttons open than would have been entirely appropriate for a security professional. His eyes flickered downwards, and somewhere in his drowsy brain he registered that Bilbo had discarded his belt.

He closed his eyes quickly, just to get an excuse to stop staring at his crotch. Seeing Bilbo only half-dressed in his uniform was much too exciting for such an early hour.

“Sleepyhead”, the shorter man chided. Thorin only grunted in answer, and to his surprise a hand snaked its way into his hair, ruffling it. The sudden touch made him start. The traces of sleep quickly depleted entirely from his brain, his insides twisting into a big, tangled ball of nerves.

“I’m sorry I came here again,” Thorin muttered, still refusing to open his eyes. He was sure he’d do something rash like pulling Bilbo on the couch with him if he looked straight at him; he didn’t feel in control of himself like he usually did, and it made him wonder why he’d come to his apartment in the first place.

“So why did you come, if you feel the need to apologise for it?” Bilbo asked, but didn’t withdraw his hand.

Thorin swallowed, but it didn’t make his mouth feel any less dry. “I wanted to tell you I missed you.”

“Why didn’t you just call me, then?”

“I tried to send you a text message,” he admitted. He’d written and rewritten it so many times that he’d lost count, clinging to each syllable until the words had stopped looking like words. ‘I miss you, I want to see you again.’ ‘I miss you, can I come over?’ ‘The dinner last week was fun, can we do it again?’ 'Are you busy? Can come over a little earlier?' It had sounded stupid and desperate even in his head no matter how he’d put it. “But I never did, and I no longer had the keys to your working place…”

“So you came here instead,” Bilbo said softly. There was a rustle of fabric, and the hand moved from his hair to his chin.

“Yes,” Thorin breathed.

“Thorin, look at me.” His voice was much closer than it had been before, and opening his eyes, Thorin found him crouching in front of the couch. Bilbo’s thumb was rubbing in circles under his chin, leaving all the places he’d touched feeling much too warm.

“I am looking at you,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He had never noticed before just how pale Bilbo’s eyelashes were. Everything about him was strangely light – his hair looked golden in the morning sun, his brown eyes almost translucent.

“Good,” he breathed against Thorin’s mouth and then he was kissing him, his lips moving so softly against Thorin’s that it shouldn’t have made his head spin like it did. Bilbo’s hand had wandered back into his hair, gently stroking at his scalp, his ears, as though unconscious of even doing so. It was soft and tender and much, much too innocent to make his blood pound in his ears, which was precisely what it did.

Thorin could almost hear him smiling when they broke apart. “Come on, get up. If you’re going to sleep, you might as well sleep on the bed.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, even as he let Bilbo pull him to his feet and lead him towards the one room he had never been to before.

“I am,” Bilbo said, sitting down on the bed and lifting the covers just enough to slip underneath them. Thorin had hardly registered that his feet were bare before they had vanished from sight. “I was going to take a nap, anyway. Just come and join me, you big idiot. Your back is going to hurt something awful if you keep sleeping on couches.”

He was watching him expectantly and Thorin gave in, slowly walking towards the bed and laying down next to him. He was too busy admiring the way Bilbo's curls fell across the pillows to care that he was still wearing his suit – it felt quite unimportant when the other man was just lying there, half a foot from him, with his eyes half-open and most of his buttons undone. He could just make out a sliver of bare chest under the cloth, and he had to fight back the urge to slip his hand there.

Bilbo was watching him, too, and whatever he’d just told him, there was nothing sleepy in his expression. His face was one of rapt attention, alert and full of keen interest. Thorin wondered if he had always been watching him that way, even seated behind his desk.

“Are you still sleepy?” Bilbo asked, reaching out to touch Thorin's cheek.

“No,” he replied truthfully. He had never felt less like sleeping. “Not anymore.”

“Good.”

And before he knew it, Bilbo had rolled closer to him, taking his face between his hands and kissing him full on the mouth again, without a hint of hesitation.

For such a short person, Bilbo was all limbs. His hands never stayed still; they seemed to be everywhere at once, roaming slowly over his chest and to his sides, carefully caressing him through his clothes. Thorin could only wrap his arms around him and tilt back his head to allow Bilbo to deepen the angle of their kisses, too disarmed by the other man’s eagerness to do more than allow him to take the lead. 

“Do you want this?” the guard whispered against his lips. Thorin smiled, placing his palm at the nape of his neck and tangling his fingers in his hair in turn.

“I thought you were going to take a nap.”

Bilbo’s eyes were bright, sunlight hitting the top of his head so that he almost looked like he had a halo. “I changed my mind when I saw what you looked like against my pillows.”

His lips were already kiss-swollen and lovely, and Thorin could not resist tracing a thumb across him bottom lip. “And what do I look like?”

“Like I’m not going to let you go anytime soon.”

“Am I to understand that I’m under arrest?”

“Oh, yes,” Bilbo replied, giving his thumb a small nibble. “Breaking and entering again, weren’t we?”

“Are you going to call the police?”

“I think I can handle you alone this time.” His hands cupped around Thorin’s face as he kissed again, hard, driving all sense out of his mind. A tongue flicked against his lips, licking its way into his mouth and Thorin opened his mouth obediently, savouring the mind numbing sensation of Bilbo’s tongue sliding against his. 

Bilbo broke away just enough to mutter against his lips, his mouth still a temptation. “You’ll ruin your suit at this rate.”

“Should I take it off, in that case?” came the answering whisper, and Bilbo grinned.

“I think you’d better,” he replied, smoothing the front of Thorin’s shirt and thoroughly enjoying how the other trembled under his touch. He continued stealing fervent little kisses, demanding the attention of his lips all the while Thorin sat up and eased himself out of his jacket and shirt. Together they made a quick work of the buttons and Bilbo’s hands were free to roam over his warm chest, catching lightly at the hair there and making the other man wriggle under his touch. He dug his fingers into Thorin’s hair and pulled once, lightly, and warmth pooled at the bottom of his stomach at the drawn out moan that slipped from Thorin’s lips.

“My, aren’t you needy,” Bilbo said, smiling. Thorin looked slightly disoriented to find the smaller man straddling him.

“I never even dared to dream that you’d agree to go out with me,” he confessed, his breathing uneven. “And even less that you’d want anything… more.”

“For someone so adamant to break about a hundred different laws, you’re awfully unsure of yourself.”

Thorin’s fingers played lightly across his neckline, tracing patterns where the skin was thinnest. For a while he said nothing, only dragged his forefinger over his jugular and pressed soft, almost hesitant kisses there until Bilbo was squirming against him.

“Oh, you're a tease...”

“You're one to talk,” Thorin replied, his teeth closing on the other's earlobe and pulling lightly.

Bilbo sighed, grabbing a fistful of Thorin's hair for support. “Am I to take it that you want to keep going?”

“I'd think you'd be able to tell from where you're sitting that I do.”

“I can,” Bilbo answered, smiling slightly. “But that alone doesn't necessarily mean you'd consent to go any further.”

Thorin's mouth closed around Bilbo's earlobe, giving it a light tug. “Well, I do. I do want this – want _you_ – and I'm willing to go as far as you want.”

There was something positively feral in the look Bilbo gave him, and it sent a wave of thrilling excitement down Thorin's spine.

“In that case,” the guard smirked, “, there are condoms and lube in the bottom drawer, should we need them.”

* * *

The sun was much higher in the sky when Thorin rolled over to his side and sleepily draped his arm over the smaller man's sleeping form. Bilbo yawned, stretching slowly and fully enjoying the feeling of a strong, warm body pressed against his back.

“Slept well?” he asked. He received a noncommittal grumble in reply and the arm around him tightened. “Thought as much.”

“Sorry I came here so early,” Thorin mumbled sleepily. “I know we were supposed to meet up at five.”

Bilbo laughed. “I guess it's too much to hope that you went to the store before coming here?”

“Sorry.”

“Ah, well, I suppose we will have to get up eventually and go buy something if we want to have that dinner.” His stomach grumbled loudly, and Thorin lazily reached out to pat it. “Or breakfast, for that matter. We didn't eat anything earlier, did we?”

It was almost a shame, he thought, to interrupt such a fine day with something so cumbersome as grocery shopping. The clock on the bedside table reminded him that they had been laying down for the past six hours, wonderful, blissful six hours, and had it not been for the demands of his stomach, he would have gladly spent the rest of the day in similar manner.

Adult world was a cruel place, however, and Bilbo knew he would eventually have to admit his defeat.

He gently nudged the man behind him, untangling from his arm. “I need to use the bathroom. I'll get some tea ready for us, okay?” Thorin didn't answer. He had already burrowed back under the blankets, head pushed firmly under a pillow to hide from daylight. Had Bilbo not known better, he would have assumed some large, strange sea creature had made its nest in his bed.

Coming out of the bathroom, he picked up a strange buzzing noise coming from the coat rack. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be coming from a black leather jacket that he had never seen before, and he assumed it must be Thorin's. The pocket vibrated angrily and he extracted a cell phone from it; the caller ID read 'sis', and Bilbo tapped it open. He quite suspected Thorin would not be coherent enough for discussion anytime soon, and they had probably caused the poor woman enough worry already as it was.

“Hello?”

“About time you picked up, _you complete arse!_ ” The voice at the other end of the line exploded with the force of dynamite and Bilbo had to hold out the phone several feet from his ear. “I've been trying to reach you for hours! Where the hell are you? The boys have been sick with worry, I called Dain this morning when you hadn't shown up and he said the meeting ended around eleven last night, you were supposed to come home right afterwards according to him! I'm skinning you alive if—”

“Excuse me, lady,” Bilbo intervened. “You would be Thorin's sister, right? Your brother is still fast asleep, I'm afraid, he had left his phone on mute and I only just now noticed you had tried to call.”

There was a moment of silence, and suddenly, the woman burst into a fit of cackles. “Oh, dear god,” she said. “Are you the poor soul whose ass my brother has been chasing? I heard from Nori that there's some guy he's set his eyes upon and I was just waiting when we'd be getting a call from your lawyer or something.”

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Well, yes, we're going out, as a matter of fact. I'm afraid I'll be keeping him a while longer, we had plans to have dinner together tonight...”

“You're going out with him?” the woman said sceptically. “I was so sure he'd get his ass arrested chasing after some poor pansy again.”

“Again?”

“He's not exactly the most suave guy when it comes to dating people, you know. Instead of admitting right upfront that he's interested, he'll sit around staring at you and following you around like a creeper, desperately hoping you'll come and talk to him instead. You can probably see why that rubs most people the wrong way. He's been mistaken for a stalker before.”

Bilbo groaned. It was much too easy to see that in his head, now that she mentioned it. “Oh, he truly has terrible people skills, hasn't he?”

“So you really _don't_ find him creepy?”

“Well, he's not very good at making first moves but he's not a bad guy,” Bilbo admitted. “I mean, I admit he looks a bit intimidating at first glance, alright, but....”

The woman laughed again, but this time it sounded much friendlier. “Oh yeah, that glower thing he does? Looks permanently like he hates everyone in the room?”

“Yeah, that thing.” Bilbo couldn't help laughing with her; the description was too spot on, and he quite pitied Thorin for it.

“Yeah, I've heard that he terrifies everyone with his presence. He just doesn't have that sort of aura that says 'approach me, I want to be your friend'. Smiling every now and then might help,” she added sarcastically. “I'm Dís, by the way.”

“Bilbo,” he replied. “I'm sorry if we've caused you and your boys such worry, I should have asked Thorin if he'd informed you where he was.”

“Don't mention it,” she said warmly. “So, Bilbo, you'll be keeping him for dinner tonight, huh? Should I expect him home later or do you want to keep him over the night, too?”

Something about her tone of voice made Bilbo feel quite warm in the face and he was very glad they were not speaking face to face. “I... well, if he's not wanted at the office early tomorrow, I guess I don't mind if he stays.”

“Oh, I'm sure we can arrange it so that he's not needed,” Dís said. “I guess he deserves a break every now and then, despite the gray hairs he keeps giving me. And, Bilbo, was it?”

“Yes?”

He thought he could almost hear her grinning. “Family dinner's at six on Saturday. Tell Thorin he'd better be bringing you along or he's grounded.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is now, guys! Thank you for sticking with me all the way to the end, I hope you've enjoyed reading the story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. This chapter is two months late from my schedule and I apologize for that - as it turns out, moving abroad does involve a lot of arrangements, money and time, and writing has not really been on the top of my priority list until very recently. To those wondering, yes, the move went well, I am enjoying my new job here and I'll be moving together with my girlfriend very soon, so things are definitely looking up.
> 
> Now that things are settling back into their casual everydayness, I hope I will soon be writing more stories for you to enjoy. This is a small, naturally beautiful town beside two lakes, a true writer's paradise if you seek a peaceful haven in the middle of nowhere (which I did) and it does something wonderful to my inspiration. <3
> 
> But now, this particular story is over! It has been a fun experience for me and all your encouraging feedback has kept me going during those days when I wasn't feeling as motivated (and on the days of zero motivation, my girlfriend has kicked my butt back into action, so you should thank her for getting this chapter out there in the first place). I hope to see you guys around, and thanks for reading!


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